


Silver Bird

by Saphruikan



Series: Innocence [1]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions
Genre: An Emo Boy and his Socially Awkward Cockatoo Dog, Best Friends, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Gladion and Lillie Are Twins, Hurt/Comfort, Pokemon Battle, Rehabilitation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2018-09-23 00:57:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 58,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9632618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saphruikan/pseuds/Saphruikan
Summary: In which a boy steals a beast, and they teach each other how to live.The story of Gladion and his Type: Null. Sun/Moon spoilers.





	1. the hidden rage

He sees her first through one-way glass, into a square chamber encased in steel. He stands beside his mother and watches as a robotic arm controlled by a masked scientist feeds a small disk into the side of the helmet, through a cross-shaped hole in the side. Something clicks; the arm retreats back into a panel in the wall. 

The beast stiffens. It’s constrained, with iron latches at its shoulders and hips and a collar around its neck holding it still. Gladion thinks it looks like a noose. For three breathless seconds nothing moves — then, suddenly, red light floods the front of the metal helmet. 

The adults barely have a moment to exclaim in relief before a tinny gurgle echoes out of the steel chamber. The beast’s head jerks back, and the red light flickers before going out. The side of its helmet starts sparking, then smoking. A scientist rushes to use the robotic arm and withdraw the cracked disk, ruined beyond repair.

The adults start discussing their latest failure, groveling before Gladion’s mother. He’s the only one who watches the constraints around the beast fall away into compartments on the floor. It staggers, then collapses stiffly to its elbows. Its sides heave, ribs standing out in sharp relief.

——

Later that night he comes back, not knowing why. The catwalk is still lit — who knows when scientists sleep — but the Null research hub is dark inside. Gladion tiptoes to the control panel next to the chamber’s window, throat dry. He just wants another look. 

His eyes find the right button, followed by his fingers. He pauses, then presses it. Nothing visible happens to the glass, but knowing the one-way window is now two-way makes the back of his neck prickle. 

He pads to the glass, eyes wide and searching. The chamber inside is dark; he watches its depths with bated breath.

A shape materializes out of the shadows in the form of the beast’s nightmarish helmet. It approaches the glass with stiff limbs, its body low to the ground. Green light glints from the darkness of the helmet’s eyeholes, like the eyes of one of the Persians in the conservation center at night. 

Gladion sinks to his knees, trying to move as smoothly as possible. The beast jerks as he shifts. “No no,” he whispers without realizing. “It’s okay.”

The beast is close enough to fog the glass with its breath. The floor of the chamber is a couple of feet lower than the control room outside, and so their eyes meet at the same level. It stands still as a statue, waiting for who knows what. Sitting here, Gladion wonders if that two-way button has ever been pressed, if this glass has ever acted like a true window before; he wonders if the beast even know it _was_ one, instead of just another wall. 

Knowing his mother, and the other people who work down here, it probably didn’t.

They stare, he in pajamas and it in prison. His stomach drops for some reason.

The beast stumbles back suddenly, and Gladion has no time to be confused before a hand comes down on his shoulder and holds him there. Faba’s mouth says, “What are you doing out of bed at this hour, young man?” but his grimace says, _You’re dead meat._ Gladion wobbles to his feet as Faba switches the glass back and steers him out of the hub, holding him hard enough to bruise.

——

The talking-to he receives from his mother the next morning is minimal, but still leaves him with that clawing feeling in his gut. He sits on her bed and watches her move around her room, putting things away and sitting down to swipe on makeup.

“Sorry,” he says again, feeling like he’s supposed to.

His mother opens the mirrors of her vanity and replies, “Don’t be. I know you’re curious.”

“Faba was mad. He said you’d be mad.”

“Faba’s dramatic.” His mother starts brushing powder on her face. “Now tell me what you were there for.”

He has a history of telling her everything, which washes over the comparatively new walls he’s constructed around himself. “I just wanted to look at it again? Maybe the system takes time to work. I wanted to check.”

“Gladion, we have cameras and researchers for that. The president’s son doesn’t need to go wandering around at night, especially not in the research hubs and _especially_ not near _that_ hub. That’s not your job. Yet.”

“I could've been practicing to _be_ the president,” he grumbles, but his excuse isn't convincing anyone.

“You’re so like your father.”

His stomach swoops, and he scrambles to change the subject, for her sake more than his. “When’s the next experiment happening? For the memory disks?”

His mother closes a makeup container with a clap. “It isn’t. That was the last one.”

“What?”

She turns in her chair to look at him. Her long, golden hair fans across her back. “The Type: Null project has been a failure for a long time, Gladion. We’ve poured resources into it ever since we knew Ultra Beasts existed, and that was before you were even born. We have nothing to show for it other than bad tests and three ugly animals. We’re shutting it down.”

Gladion rankles at the word “ugly.” He gets the feeling there’s another reason she wants to get rid of Pokemon made for killing Ultra Beasts, and it has to do with a worn stack of notes in her office she never lets anyone touch. “But what’ll happen to the Type: Nulls?”

“They’re too dangerous to keep, even with those helmet inhibitors.” She turns back to her vanity as if they discuss the weather. “They’ll be cryogenically frozen, and when we have the time for it, broken down. We have other projects we need to devote time and resources to.”

“‘Broken down’?” Gladion repeats.

“You know what I mean, Gladion,” she replies. “You’re not Lillie.”

She spruces herself up further as Gladion’s insides plummet to the floor. He suspected, but hearing it confirmed is another matter entirely. “If we made them,” he says slowly, “don’t we have a responsibility to . . . to keep them?”

A second ticks by before his mother says, “You’re young. You’ll learn. There are some things you have to let sink to keep the rest afloat.” She stands, closing her mirrors, and goes to sit beside him on the bed. “Sometimes you have to uproot ugly weeds to keep a healthy garden. Do you understand?”

That word again. _Ugly._ “Yes.”

Her knuckles brush his cheek tenderly. “No one wanted it to work more than I did. Project RKS was your father’s idea. It was he who funded the Type: Fulls and created them. He wanted us all to be safe.” She looks at the opposite wall. “Don’t tell your sister this, or anyone else. It’ll be our little secret.”

“Yes?”

“You know your father went _into_ Ultra Space, don’t you? And . . . all that came back was the nebulous Pokemon and his notes on a flock of Ultra Beasts.”

“Yes,” Gladion says hollowly, glancing at the door.

“That’s not it entirely. What came back was the Pokemon, the notes, and a Type: Full. Unmasked.”

Gladion looks at her in surprise. He’s never seen one of the beasts without its helmet on before. 

“Your father wanted to be the first one to see Ultra Space for himself, and he took one of them in a Pokeball with him for protection,” his mother continues solemnly. “About a half hour in, we lost communication with him. Suddenly three things tumbled back to us through the wormhole we created: the Pokemon we call Cosmog, your father’s notes, and an unmasked Type: Full. We already knew Type: Fulls were dangerous and unpredictable, and we don’t know how this one lost its mask. We still don’t know. But the second it got to its feet, it tried to attack us. It took every Pokemon in the room to subdue it and get another helmet on it.”

Gladion wants very badly to leave, or at least cover his ears, but instead he sits there numb. “A shield that can turn on those it protects isn’t a shield at all,” his mother says. “Your father had good intentions, but it didn’t work out. We have no other use for these beasts. For the good of the rest of this entire world, just three beings have to go away. That doesn’t sound so bad, does it?”

Gladion thinks of the eyes burning into his through the glass. “No.”

His mother smiles, and it doesn’t reach her eyes. No smile has reached her eyes at any point in Gladion’s memory. “Good. Stay away from the Null hub, all right? Be a good boy.”

“I will, Mother,” he replies, nodding. 

Her hands reach up to stroke his hair, the same golden color as hers. “Everything will be all right,” she murmurs. She moves Gladion’s locks around from where he’d brushed them, changes his part back to the way she likes it. An odd look passes over her; Gladion knows what’s coming and cannot stop it, only brace for it. 

“Soon, I’ll be able to find your father,” she assures, like nothing could be more possible. “When I bring him home, you can tell him all about how much you want to be president one day, just like him.”

Gladion swallows down his . . . disgust? His grief? Somehow they mix into an unnamed emotion, one that repels him from her, that grabs him by the hand and the heart and the neck and tries to drag him to anywhere that isn’t here. “Yes, Mother.”

She tilts her head so they see eye to eye; the feeling surges in intensity. “How does that sound?”

“Good. Mother.” He gazes back at her and hides a tremble. There’s something he should be saying, something in her that he needs to burn. But he just can’t find the words, or the courage.

She pats his cheek, and withdraws. “Run along now and get some breakfast.”

“I will,” he repeats, and makes his escape.

——-

He knows when the guards shift, and what hours of the night have the least amount of people. This has been a long time coming, and a product of too little agonized deliberation. All he has is a change of clothes, toiletries and electronics he thinks are important, and as much money as he could stuff into every pocket of his backpack. He doesn’t trust company credit cards - they might be tracked - and he already popped out the GPS tracker on his laptop and phone. 

He’s certain the rage bubbling molten in his stomach can torch the walls.

He just has one last thing to collect.

The Null research hub is as deserted as it was when he snuck in over a month ago. He leaves the light off and hurries to the control panel, his pulse rushing hotly through his ears. The security cameras in every corner of the room are disabled in a routine maintenance check, not that it won’t be obvious who stole the goods anyway. 

Gladion changes the mirror to two-way and peeks around into the chamber. The Type: Null stares back, frozen and foreboding. Its eyes burn from the darkness of the helmet. Gladion knows he can’t turn back now.

“Don’t worry,” he stammers. “I won’t let you get frozen.”

He unzips his backpack and stuffs as many files as he can into it from the shelf in the back. He goes back and presses a button labeled “SUBJUGATE”; a panel in the cell’s wall whirrs as it slides back, revealing an open Pokeball. The Type: Null disappears in a flash of red light, its bulk and stare vanished inside the ball.

Gladion presses a button that has never been touched, and isn’t supposed to be.

The panel closes, whirring is heard, and the ball reappears inside the control room in a chute beside Gladion.

Gladion nearly drops the Pokeball as a siren blares to life overhead, red and blue lights spinning. He races out onto the catwalk and sprints as he hears confused shouts and stamping feet all over the compound.

He knows this place from hide-and-seek with his sister; he knows exactly where to hole up until it’s safe to sneak out. He keeps the Pokeball in his hand the entire time.

———

The motel workers don’t particularly care who the edgy-looking kid is or why he rented a motel room for the next six months alone. Gladion knows kids as young as ten strike out on their own as Trainers, but it’s nevertheless a shock to be treated as such when he still feels the need to ask whether he can run to the bathroom. 

Aether hasn’t filed a missing persons report and he hasn’t seen anything in the news implying he’s vanished, even now, when he made his escape over two days ago. It seems his mother doesn’t want to raise a fuss or bring attention to what the Foundation might be doing. She’s probably livid, enough to forego searching for her only son. Maybe she doesn’t care if he comes back. Maybe she thinks he’s ugly now too.

Even so he takes steps to reduce the likelihood of someone recognizing him, in case he runs into Aether employees; he knows they work directly on Alola as well. He got the idea for his new wardrobe from a couple of kids older than him who tried talking to him when he got off the boat he snuck out of Aether on. Their hair was dyed and they were covered in black-and-white clothing, and they waved their hands in his face often, which was annoying. It occurred to him later that they may have been trying to mug him, and he completely did not notice and walked away.

Everyone around him treated them like a nuisance, and he’d rather be treated like a nuisance than like That Escaped Kid From Aether. He went out and bought as many pairs of black and red clothing as he could find, in the edgiest looks possible. It’s more difficult than he imagined, since his mother has dressed him all his life, and there weren’t any other kids his age at Aether, so he isn’t sure what the fashion is. He bought gaudy makeup, intending to look up tutorials on how to make it look good — he doesn’t want to look like the punk teens who almost mugged him, who seemed like they just smudged charcoal around their eyes and settled on that. He isn’t going to dye or restyle his hair, no, not when he had it modeled after his father’s style and he doesn’t want to let go of that yet. He’ll make up for it with everything else.

The motel room isn’t so bad. It’s got a flatscreen and a bed, and he doesn’t need much (his old room had a much bigger flatscreen and was about the square acreage of this entire building, but as an official runaway, he is not about to be a picky child). He locks the door, draws the blinds. He refrains from connecting his devices to Wifi, paranoid they can still be tracked somehow, and decides to wait a few days for that. 

He sits on the end of the bed, blowing out a breath. He reaches into his backpack and withdraws his real prize: the Pokeball. 

Three Type: Nulls were created, differentiated by codenames G1, S2, and C3. His mother told him S2 was the most docile, and therefore best eligible for testing; it is S2 that he holds in his hand now. He tries not to think about G1 and C3.

He turns the Pokeball outward and clicks it open. 

Red energy sparks to the middle of the room; the Type: Null manifests facing him, in the same position it had when he contained it first. Gladion’s heart jumps to his throat; the beast is much bigger up close. It’s taller than him; it seems to take up the entire room.

It lifts its head, and he can dimly see its eyes more clearly than ever within the helmet’s eyeholes. He barely has time to study them; the beast locks up stiff, its claws digging into the floor.

“Don’t be-“ A metallic shriek interrupts him, a noise he’s never heard anything make. The Type: Null stumbles back and its rump hits the wall; it jumps forward, panting breaths echoing from the depths of its helmet. Its claws scrabble at the floor as it breaks into a pitiful lumber, smashing into anything in its path as it flees Gladion. 

Gladion jumps up onto the bed, yelling, “Wait, stop!” which does nothing to stop the beast’s mad scramble. The spikes on its helmet gouge deep scratches in the wallpaper as it stumbles along the walls; it rams into the desk holding the flatscreen and knocks it over with a deafening clatter. It sends the chair and little table in the middle of the room flying. 

Four times it rampages in a circle around the motel room in panic, ignoring Gladion’s yells or indeed spurred on by them, until he remembers the Pokeball in his hand. The red light catches the Type: Null mid-stride, and then Gladion is alone.

He jumps off the bed and wobbles to the middle of the room, surveying the wreckage and waiting for his heart to stop pounding. Gouges mar the carpet and walls, and when he heaves the flatscreen back into its former position he finds it stomped on and cracked. 

“That could not have gone worse.”

He sheepishly approaches the owners of the motel with a story that his Pokemon roughhoused a little too enthusiastically and offers to pay for the damages. The scratches through the carpet they cover with smaller rugs until the big one can be replaced, and he orders a new flatscreen online, connecting to Wifi out of necessity. 

He’s grateful he had the mind to get the Type: Null back into the ball before it realized A) how breakable the walls are B) how squishy the human on the bed is. He knows how powerful the Type: Nulls were created to be — “essentially a lab-Arceus,” he overheard Faba boast at one point — and berates himself for not thinking of that. The last thing he needs is the Type: Null turning on him, or breaking right through the wall and rampaging around Alola.

A day later he tentatively releases the Type: Null again, bracing himself. Once again it locks up, trembling and snorting, and once again it springs into panic when Gladion tries to talk to it; he avoids much damage by sending it right back into the ball.

Not knowing where to turn, he pores over the files he stole from the Foundation, opening to a random page in the middle and scanning for information. A lot of words he has to look up, even with his expansive education, and symbols and codenames escape him entirely most of the time, but what he can glean is certainly more than he knew previously. The Type: Nulls are comprised from the DNA of over 150 Pokemon from every region in the world and every attack typing known to man. Type: Nulls were almost modeled after Mew instead of Arceus, but no one wanted another Mewtwo incident, so Arceus it was. All three Type: Nulls possess eggless ovaries that produce estrogen, but have no estrous cycle or reproductive capacity (most of this flies over Gladion’s head, but the gist, he figures, is that S2 is a girl).

He studies full-color pictures of all three, and understands the significance of their codenames: G1 has golden head feathers cascading down from under the helmet, S2 has silver, and C3 has copper. He can’t tell whether that was intentional or not, though knowing Faba it was (it’d be just like him to claim G1 for himself and boast about it). 

He has no idea where G1 and C3 are being held, and doesn’t know whether the most disturbing detail he learned applies to them as well as S2.

S2 has never left her chamber. 

Gladion leans back and stretches, checking the clock on the desk. He’s been reading these files for almost three hours. He turns and surveys the motel room. No wonder S2 freaked out when he released her; she’s never seen the outside world, nor interacted with a living creature. No human was ever allowed to enter her chamber, and she was never allowed to leave; the only relationships she had were with the robotic arms controlled from the outside that subdued and experimented on her. All she’s known are silver steel walls, and herself. Releasing her into a soft, wooden, carpeted room, with a strange shape and strange smells, as well as a human, must have been massively overstimulating and confusing for the beast.

He sighs, resting his chin in his hand and his elbow on the table. He’s only ten years old. He didn’t exactly predict that the creature he stole might not know a thing about the world. He’s not even sure how to get her comfortable with him.

He avoids looking at the scratches on the wall. One thing _is_ for sure: he has his work cut out for him.

Another thing he’s sure of as well — he will not be referring to a numerical codename like she’s a computer program. 

So he names her Silvia. 

——-

The third time he lets Silvia out of the ball, he prepares. He hides all loose items and slides the flatscreen under the bed. He makes sure the doors and windows are locked, the blinds are drawn, and nothing too bright or gaudy is sticking out. 

He has his laptop open on the bed beside him, and makes sure there’s space between the wall and his bed in case he needs to slide it to safety in a pinch. He sits up against his pillows so he’s noticeable, shoes on so his toes are protected. 

Last night he looked up all sorts of articles and videos on how to get through to anxious Pokemon, then antisocial Pokemon, then dangerous Pokemon. Stuff like a cheery Wikihow on how to get a skittish Seviper to feel better around its owner aren’t exactly the material he thinks will help, but he ate it all up anyway. He wasted half an hour reading an irrelevant but grimly fascinating series of news articles about some psycho who hoarded Meowths and never let them leave her house, and was pretty heartened at the fact that apparently all Pokemon released from the house had been successfully rehabilitated and given to good homes. A related article about a similarly-isolated Ursaring who never responded to treatment, and attacked anything that moved until it had to be euthanized, immediately negated those good feelings. Who knows how a lab-Arceus will react to one untrained ten-year-old trying to rehabilitate it?

He sets his jaw. His father started this; he wants to finish it. His mother is wrong. It’s his responsibility to try.

Earlier today he went out and bought a big bag of bird Pokemon kibble, a generic kind. He read in the files that the Type: Nulls subsist on the same amount and type of food as the average Pidgeot, which he finds the strangest correlation. He bought two bowls and a little bed and pillow as well to put in the corner opposite from his bed, in case Silvia got to the point where she wanted to lie down. He emptied a heaping helping of kibble into the bowl, water in the other, and left it by the bed for her.

He takes a deep breath, placing his laptop on his lap. He lifts Silvia’s Pokeball, braces himself, and lets her out.

The second she’s out he drops the Pokeball by his side and stares at his laptop, almost idiotically pretending to type, as if it’s going to matter to her what he’s doing. He watches from his peripherals as she stiffens up as usual, turning clumsily to face him sitting on the bed. Slowly he makes eye contact with her, holds it for a few seconds, then turns back to his laptop.

No rampaging yet. Gladion starts surfing the web like nothing is wrong, scrolling through Chatoter and utterly ignoring his bestial roommate. He watches sidelong as she relaxes bit by bit, taking great shuddering inhales through her nose (he thinks) and watching him. She starts moving her head, looking around the room. 

Gladion tries to imagine what this is like for her. He tries to imagine living in his room all his life and never leaving it or seeing anyone else, and then suddenly being thrust into the world. It just makes him sad, and angrier still.

Silvia’s front claws click as she takes a cautious step toward the desk. She creeps to it and sniffs it, then sniffs the wall next to it. Gladion puts on a news report about the environment that just came on his timeline with the sound off and watches her sniff her way around the room, taking the opportunity to study her. Her neck feathers look more gray than silver, and cramped from the helmet’s embrace around her throat. She appears to have a thin coat of fur around her shoulders down to her front claws, then nothing but bare black skin on her chest and hindquarters. The purple scales on her back legs look irregular. The odd fin that is her tail sags and flops limply to and fro as she walks.

She bumps her shoulder into the desk that usually holds the TV and staggers back, hissing at it. Gladion expected a growl; her overall body shape resembles a canine like a Houndoom or something similar. He frowns at the way she moves. She waddles, stiffly, and rocks from side to side in an uncomfortable fashion with every step, like someone put boots on a Skitty. He hopes she’s not in pain.

He gets distracted reading something for a while as Silvia explores. When he feels a tickling on his ankle, he has to suppress every reflex that tells him to jerk his foot away. He peeks over his laptop and sees Silvia standing at the edge of the bed, sniffing at him; as they lock eyes she stamps backwards and hisses. 

Gladion clears his throat softly. She hisses again. “Hi,” he says, as lowly and calmly as possible. She crouches, and he stops breathing, expecting more panic. 

Little by little she relaxes again, as Gladion forces himself to look at his laptop screen. She returns to sniffing his foot. With the tiniest of motions, Gladion wags his foot back and forth. Silvia flinches back and hisses, but sniffs him again, only to jump back when Gladion wiggles his foot again. 

She glances up at his face, and he says, “Hi.”

Gladion is no expert, but being raised on Aether gave him some semblance of a scientific mind. If a creature has never interacted with anything in her life, how else to teach her about the world than to have set actions that she can learn to trigger? Sniffing the foot equals a wiggle. Eye contact equals a greeting. Humans don’t have to be scary.

Or Gladion is making a total fool of himself, and Silvia will realize how squishy he is and disembowel him. The thought’s crossed his mind more than once.

Silvia takes careful steps along the bed until her head is level with his shoulder. Gladion tells himself to remain calm. Her nightmarish mask of a helmet is less than two feet away from his face. He looks her in the eye, says, “Hi,” and returns to his laptop to type gibberish into the search bar. He can feel her breath on his shoulder as she sniffs him some more.

Eventually she backs up and wanders away, toward the food. She snorts at it with great interest, pacing back and forth in front of it, then reaches forward with one claw to paw at the bowls. Water and kibble scatter across the floor. Gladion winces, figuring it’s not the worst damage she could do, and kicks himself as he realizes that there’s no conceivable way for her to eat. How can she, with the helmet in the way? He has to hit the files again to find out how the scientists fed her. He really hopes it didn’t involve nutrient injections. He’s obviously a little short on syringes.

Silvia stiffly turns and waddles back toward the bed. Gladion does his best to look like he wasn’t staring. She stops near his shoulder again, her eyes boring a hole in the side of his head. He makes eye contact, says, “Hi,” once more, and goes back to his laptop.

When she doesn’t leave, he takes a deep breath and dares to straighten up, making sure to move slowly. A low hiss issues from Silvia’s throat and she leans back, but still she doesn’t leave. Gladion looks at her again and say, “Hi, Silvia.” She stares, but doesn’t move.

“My name is Gladion,” he says carefully, quietly. “I know you don’t understand me, but I’m not going to hurt you. You’re probably really confused, but that’s okay. I’m a friend.”

He hears a tiny clicking noise from inside the helmet, like a mouth being opened. “Silvia, is it okay if I stand up?” Gladion asks, easing shut his laptop and sliding it between the bed and the wall. “I’m going to stand up. I’m not going to hurt you.” He shimmies to the bottom of the bed so as to avoid the side where Silvia is; her eyes follow every move he makes. “I’m just standing up now, Silvia. That’s all. No need to panic.”

With alarm, he realizes he left her Pokeball on the bed. Figuring he can run to it in an emergency, he stands, facing Silvia so he can watch her reaction. She startles and hisses, apparently shocked he changed form by standing. “It’s okay,” Gladion croons. “This is what I normally look like. Honestly, you’re taller than I am. Everything’s fine.”

He waits until she relaxes a little, then turns and walks to the desk. He loiters there, not actually having a plan besides showing his new roommate that he’s allowed to walk without inciting a panic, then turns and walks back to the end of the bed and sits down. He purses his lips and pats his knees, the side of his body facing Silvia crawling with nerves. He hears her breathing, shuddery and scared. “It’s okay,” he murmurs again.

He hears her claws scraping against the carpet as she walks, around the corner of the bed and toward him. She doesn’t stop — for a moment Gladion’s afraid she’ll just keep going and squish his head against the wall with her helmet like a melon — until she’s terrifyingly close, her head level with his, staring directly at his face. Gladion squirms under such an intense and direct gaze. She nearly fills his field of vision.

He leans away a little, and Silvia leans closer. He swallows nervously, deciding to make eye contact, but keeping his head low so he won’t be perceived as threatening. This close to her, he can see that her irises are gray, unless the shadows cast upon her eyes by the helmet is deceiving him.

“Hi, Silvia.” He hears her breath catch momentarily, then resume. It echoes inside the metallic walls of her mask. If she lunged forward suddenly . . . “What’re you looking at?”

He smiles at her, and her eyes flick down to study his mouth moving. He returns the gesture in reverse, looking up at the odd hooked crest jutting out of the top of her helmet that nearly brushes his forehead. He can see the base of her feather shafts before they’re swallowed by the vise keeping her crest closed; they’re almost as thick as his finger, like the shafts of a Fearow he played with for a while in the conservation area. He wonders what the point is of keeping her crest closed. It’s not like her feathers can do any damage. Unless they can. Unless they produce poisonous dust or something. She _is_ technically a Poison type, alongside her other types.

Gladion starts talking, not really sure what about, just to fill the weird silence, and to get her used to his voice. He coos to Silvia like he’s heard Aether employees talk to baby Pokemon, because he feels like that’s appropriate. Silvia stares as his face moves and he studies her in turn, looking down at her chest mantled by the biggest gray feathers he’s ever seen. Her breastbone sticks out in sharp relief against the short black fur covering her chest, and he frowns. Is she malnourished? She has technically gone several days without food.

Gladion has never encountered a Pokemon so socially awkward - Silvia seems content to stand there forever staring at his face from literally a foot away. “Hey . . . Silvia,” he starts, wondering if he’s pushing it too far too soon. “Watch my hand, okay? Watch it.”

He shifts his arm and slowly lifts his hand to shoulder level, as if he’s going to wave. Silvia’s head lowers, eyes locked upon it, and her chest bulges with a low hiss. He waits until the hiss subsides, then wiggles his fingers, keeping it up until the hiss _that_ inspired subsides. “You’re fine,” he whispers. “Don’t worry. You’re fine. No one is going to hurt you.”

Moving so slowly his arm aches with it, Gladion extends his hand toward her helmet. Silvia watches it approach as though ensorcelled, her pupils dilated to tiny dots, the feathers on her neck shifting and flattening where the helmet allows. Gladion is so tense, and so expectant of a bad outcome, that when his fingers touch the cool, smooth surface of her helmet before her eyes, he almost jumps from the shock. Silvia is utterly still, barely breathing. Gladion taps her helmet slowly, then withdraws his hand. “See?”

Silvia seems to sag, as though relieved nothing bad happened. Exhaustion from anticipation. “There you go,” Gladion coos. “You did really good. Good girl.”

Silvia watches intently and tenses up again as Gladion lifts his hand once more. He murmurs reassurances to her, ever-wary, as he reaches for her shoulder this time; Silvia’s head lowers in jerky movements to stare at his arm, so close the metal touches the inside of his elbow. _At least she can’t bite me._ Mouth dry, Gladion barely breathes as he touches her shoulder, below the feathers splayed over it. 

Her fur is short and wiry, and her skin is extremely taut over the muscle of her shoulder. She’s cool to the touch, like a reptile. She’s shaking very hard, harder than Gladion has ever felt anything tremble. He rubs his hand back and forth in gentle motions, dimly registering that this is the first time Silvia has ever touched another living creature. “Good girl. You’re just fine.”

Not wanting to send Silvia into cardiac arrest, he places his hand back on his knee and studies her. Being able to touch her is definitely good progress, and only on the third try too. He was worried they’d never get to this point, which would snowball into a myriad of other issues, like how to feed her. 

Silvia’s claws, Gladion sees as he looks down, are clenched into the carpet so tight she looks like she’s taken root. He wonders if she has the reflex to leave things that make her uncomfortable, or if she doesn’t know she can yet, and is just standing here not knowing what to do. He decides to give her space, standing slowly and watching her to make sure she doesn’t suddenly lunge. They’re practically at eye level with each other. If this goes wrong, if he makes a wrong move, he’d be dead in a second.

He shakes off these uneasy thoughts. He has some reading to do.

——-

He spends the rest of the night at the desk reading through Silvia’s files. Silvia follows him wherever he goes, though from a distance, and doesn’t look away from him the entire time; she stands next to his chair at the desk and waddles after him when he goes to the bathroom, though the curtain hiding the toilet spooks her when he moves it, so she just hisses from a distance. 

She appears to be coming around to the idea that Gladion won’t hurt her; if Gladion sits at the desk long enough, she hovers to watch what he’s doing, and even eases herself into a sitting position at one point next to him. The process looks painful in the feeble, slow way she does it, which worries Gladion. Silvia tolerates Gladion touching her twice more, both on her back along her spine. Her bones and muscles jut out of her body and her bare, dry skin is stiff to the touch, barely moving across her body, not like the loose, saggy skin of a canine like Arcanine closer to her size.

He pores over notes on her physiology, hoping for answers, and almost wishes he doesn’t find what he does.

He reads the same line over and over again, under a list titled “Flaws in execution,” then stares at Silvia’s body.

“You don’t have enough skin.”

Aether scientists, it seems, can’t play god like they seem to think they can. “You literally do not have enough skin on your body to move,” Gladion mutters, cheek in his hand and elbow on the table, gawping over the list of physical flaws Aether accidentally incorporated into the Type: Nulls. 

Inefficient hearing. Low core temperature. Faulty immune response. Disconnected vertebrae at the base of the tail. In Faba’s handwriting, Gladion reads, “Considering the nature of the project, and the vastness of what I am attempting to accomplish, these side effects are minimal when compared to the successes we were able to-“ 

He cuts himself off, taking a deep breath to stave off the urge to crumple the file into a little ball, like he wishes he could do with Faba’s head. Apparently, not enough skin to move is a minimal side effect. 

Gladion burns like nothing alive, and his skin has only ever been the same pale tone. He can’t count the amount of times the Alolan sun has baked him red. For days afterward his skin was tight and painful, and moving hurt.

Gladion, after getting Silvia’s attention so she can anticipate what he’s doing, gently pokes around her shoulder and armpit. Nothing is loose; her hide hugs her body like a wetsuit, like the plastic of an overfilled balloon. No wonder she waddles. No wonder she moves and sits so awkwardly and slowly. Gladion doubts she can stretch her limbs and torso to their full range of motion at all. It would pull at her entire body.

He slides his chair back and picks up Silvia’s fin-tail. He feels no resistance, no muscle pull. She doesn’t react in the least, other than to turn stiffly and watch his chair. Gladion shakes her tail, then pinches the blue flesh on the top. No reaction. It seems Silvia really can’t feel nor control her own tail. As far as she’s concerned, it’s loose, dead weight hanging off her hindquarters. 

Gladion rubs her shoulder gently, then gets up and retrieves her Pokeball to put her back in for the night. He breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth, counting to ten until he doesn’t feel so pissed off. Only someone like Faba and the people who work for him would think debilitating physical flaws like these are minor oversights. How can Silvia experience life like he wants her to if she can barely _move?_

This is fine. He got to touch her multiple times today, and she seems to want to follow him around, even if it is just to study him. Progress like this is exponential. 

He looks down at her Pokeball, rubbing his thumb over it, and wonders what kind of man his father was to order the creation of creatures such as these.

——-

The next morning Gladion orders a case of Pidgeot suet and an expensive blender with same-day delivery from PeliPackaging, the only local shipping company that accepts cash at the door along with online credit. He figures a high-quality item would be able to blend better than any other. He waits anxiously for the arrival of his purchases; he keeps Silvia in her ball, not knowing when the deliveryperson will arrive. 

Apparently, the researchers fed Silvia with a purely liquid mixture; a tube would extend from the wall above Silvia’s head, and the food would flow down the chute and into Silvia’s mouth through a hole in the front of her helmet. Gladion doubts she even knows what solid food is, or how to chew. For now he can blend up suet and kibble for her and work on teaching her how to chew later.

While Gladion waits he researches Pokemon skin creams, figuring he can try managing Silvia’s skin problem by moistening and loosening it up. Steam loosens up skin, he knows, and he toys with the idea of getting a room steamer usually sold for owners of Salandits, but he can’t keep his whole room steamed for fear of damage to wallpaper that isn’t his. A lot of skin creams are species-specific, or type-specific, so Gladion has trouble finding a generic kind that could work for all types (he doesn’t want to get a cream that works for rock types, but is toxic to fairy types, not really knowing how Silvia’s biology works).

He researches bath salts with calming scents, sweaters designed to hug the chest and reduce anxiety, and even a collar with a bell that’s supposed to soothe. He saves a page on rubber claw-caps and spends over an hour watching videos on how to teach wild Pokemon Idem. He’s beginning to have trouble keeping track of it all, so he opens up a text document and jots down ideas he has:

-Teach Silvia Idem  
-Teach Silvia commands (sit, come, eat)  
-Talk louder for hearing problems  
-Get lotion for skin problems  
-Keep room clean for immune problems  
-Keep room warm for temperature problems  
-Need more hand soap

He jumps up when the deliverywoman knocks, and lugs his purchases inside and pays. It takes him a while to assemble the blender, and the noise it makes when he dumps two packages of suet, two handfuls of kibble, and a cup of water in there and turns it on does not sound healthy. In the end nothing breaks, and what he ends up with is a thick, chunky brown goop, which hopefully Silvia will find appetizing. 

He gives Silvia a moment to get her bearings when he releases her from her ball, as she’s still tense and apparently stunned at her surroundings, judging by how she snorts and freezes up immediately. Gladion waves the blender cup full of goop in her direction, cooing, “Silviaaa. Doesn’t that smell good?”

It indeed seems to smell good, as Silvia zeroes in on it immediately with hearty snorts. She approaches Gladion with the most confidence he’s seen thus far from her. “I’m sorry it took me so long to feed you,” he says to her. “I didn’t know- whoa.” Silvia comes so close that her helmet almost slams him in the forehead, a front paw raised to swipe at the cup.

“Silvia, wait- Silvia!” he yelps, staggering back from her. She waddles after him undaunted, a clicking noise coming from her helmet. Gladion’s heart rate spikes from being cornered by a creature five times his size. “I’m going to give this to you if you stay still!” 

Gladion gets a hand on her neck right below her helmet and holds her back as best he can, which turns out to be not very well; her strength is stunning, sending him right back into the wall. Only ducking prevents one of the spikes on her neck from stabbing him in the face. Honestly frightened of being crushed, Gladion raises the cup over her head and, as Silvia lifts her head to keep it in her view, holds her helmet still long enough to pour some slowly in the hole in the front. Wet smacking noises issue from the helmet, so Gladion found the right place, at least. Careful so she doesn’t try to jump up or knock into him, he feeds her in little intervals, resuming when she seems to be done gulping the last mouthful. She’s very messy — a lot of it oozes out of the bottom of her helmet and drips to the floor — but most of it seems to get to the right place. 

Gladion backs away when the cup is empty, and goes to the sink to fill it with water and swish it around to get the last bits. Silvia bends down and sniffs the puddles she made on the carpet, then lifts her head and makes smacking noises, like she’s licking the inside of the helmet. “You’re a messy girl,” Gladion chides as he comes back, heart still pounding. “Thirsty?”

She downs the water in a similar sloppy and dangerous-to-squishy-Gladion fashion, and seems sated afterward. More exhausted than he thought he’d be, Gladion goes to the bed and sits down with a whoosh. The room smells like Pokemon food, his hands are gross, and, as he is discovering in this moment, Silvia is not housebroken.

“What am I going to do with you?” he demands. Silvia does not answer.

——-

Gladion’s days become routine. The second he wakes up, he lets Silvia out of her ball, and the breakfast scramble begins. No matter what he tries, feeding Silvia remains as hazardous as ever; she can’t seem to understand that he’ll feed her whether or not she freaks out about it, and so she pursues him with the cup as if he’s trying to steal it. Several times she’s driven the helmet into him, usually around head-height, and it feels like being hit with a baseball bat. He finds that standing on the bed as he feeds her is much safer than being on the floor with her, since she doesn’t seem to want to attempt going on the bed herself. The consequence is that he has to run his comforter to the laundromat twice a day to wash off suet stains, until he finally thinks of the bright idea to put one of her house-training pads under her mouth to catch the excess.

With that done, they’re both free to their own devices. Silvia is no longer afraid of the room and its colors, and hasn’t broken anything in a while, so Gladion puts most of the room’s amenities back in their own places. Gladion vacuums, dusts, or spends most of his time on the bed on his laptop, and Silvia likes to sniff around. Sometimes she lies down by the wall, descending in stiff and wobbly starts, and rests her head flat on the ground between her front legs. It’s a pose that strikes Gladion as uncomfortable, but seems to be the only way she can rest her head, considering the four spikes projecting from her neck. Stupid Faba and his stupid, pointless helmet design. Aesthetics, and not comfort, seemed to dominate the blueprint.

He considers it a little victory when he glances over at one point and realizes her eyes are closed and she’s napping, and that they’re at the point where she feels comfortable sleeping around him. He has yet to reach that point himself with her. At dinner Gladion feeds her again, with the same risky ritual, and then puts her back in her ball for bedtime.

She seems to dislike change; if an object is in a different place than it was the day previous, even by just a few inches, she’ll spend half an hour sniffing and hissing at it before she gets used to it again. She always sniffs Gladion for a while if he’s in different clothing. The first time it rained she backed into a corner and hissed at the rattling noise against the windows; Gladion had to sit nearby and talk until she got used to it. It’s the middle of hurricane season, and as the weeks go by she stops noticing thunder and rain altogether.

Now that Silvia’s discovered that touch is not only painless, but feels good, she seeks it out several times a day. Though the experience still seems to leave her confused, as she always goes extremely still and shakes a little bit, she approaches Gladion and stares expectantly until he rubs whatever part of her is nearest. Sometimes if he doesn’t react quick enough for her liking she’ll snort and puff, which leads to walking right into him helmet-first — this has led to several ripped shirts and bruises. The more time goes on, the longer she stays next to him receiving rubs and strokes. Gladion only ever waits for her to approach him, and never chases her down to pet her. He wants to keep contact a positive thing, and it seems the message is getting through.

He’s grateful, because it’s clear Silvia is a hands-on project. She needs assistance in doing almost everything: eating, standing after lying down for a while, relieving herself. Her helmet needs to be wiped down with a damp cloth after every meal, and she usually needs to be sponge-cleaned after going to the bathroom. She’s doing rather well when it comes to going on the training pad, but causes just as many accidents as successes.

PeliPackaging becomes his most-visited website; he orders an army of cleaning supplies, groceries, and toys he thinks she might like. The rope chew toy was an idiotic move, considering her helmet; the red rubber ball was a great success, as Silvia will trot around after it for hours, with breaks to huff and puff. She learns Gladion is a helpful figure, and will pace between him and the bed if she accidentally kicks it underneath, and makes a great deal of weird happy trills when he retrieves it.

He constantly discovers more quirks about Silvia that makes him wonder just what makes her up, like her reaction to the room’s lone mirror. Gladion set it on the floor against the wall instead of back on its hook, and the second Silvia saw it she became deeply spooked. She stood in one place and hissed at her own reflection for over fifteen minutes, weaving side to side on her front legs in a peculiar fashion that reminded Gladion of an antisocial Spearow back at Aether who had been abused by humans and taken to the conservation center — it only ever crouched, weaved, and hissed at those who tried to help it. “The more I see you,” Gladion told her, “the more I start thinking you’re just a big silver bird.”

Gladion went and stood behind Silvia so that his reflection appeared as well, and Silvia badly startled, even more shocked that there were _two_ humans instead of one. “Do you not realize that’s you?” Gladion wondered. He went in front of the mirror and crouched, waving his hand in front of it and looking back at her. “It’s us, see?”

Silvia just continued to weave. Gladion found this curious, because he assumed all Pokemon species passed the MSR test, and were aware their reflection wasn’t another Pokemon. Silvia eventually began to approach, eyes locked on herself; when she was close enough to touch Gladion rested his hand on the side of her helmet. “See?” he said, gesturing between Silvia and her reflection. “See my hand? That’s you.”

A minute or so passed by of defensive weaving, then quite suddenly Silvia straightened up and calmed down, as if it had finally dawned on her. “There you go!” Gladion praised. “Good girl!”

He figured it was safe to leave the mirror there then, but found a new danger; Silvia swiftly became obsessed with her own reflection. She sat directly in front of it, the front of her helmet pressed against the glass, and uttered and sustained a strange low warble, for hours on end. “You sound like a Pidove,” Gladion called from the desk, where he sat on his laptop. “Are you a Pidove under there, Silvia?”

When she wouldn’t budge for dinner, or for anything, he started to get weirded out. He put her in her ball, slid the mirror under the bed, and released her again. She sniffed around the wall where the mirror had been, then lost interest.

Gladion figures it’s safe to reintroduce the flatscreen after this, hoping Silvia recognizes that images on flat panels aren’t actually windows into another room at this point. She watches him fiddle around with the wires to reconnect it from a short distance away, and jumps and hisses when a cooking show comes on. Gladion lowers the volume and coos gently to reassure her, until she calms down and learns to ignore the TV. 

He keeps it on from then on, for background noise so Silvia can get used to more human voices than his own. Sometimes she sits by the bed as he watches cooking competitions, and he’ll rub her shoulders until she lies down and naps.

Gladion always loved Pokemon. He loves cuddling with them. Some long-term residents of the conservation area would follow him around, waiting for him to sit down so they could curl around him and snuggle, from Arboks to Emolgas to Noiverns. Gladion feels tempted to slide off the bed and sit beside Silvia on the floor, but has learned the hard way this is a bad idea. If Gladion goes on the floor, Silvia will become overexcited and try to stand over him, disregarding where her sharp claws or hard helmet hit him. He tried it once and had to scramble back onto the bed when she tried to jump on him. It’s frustrating, having to be so careful with a Pokemon that clearly wants touch, but doesn’t know boundaries.

He even has to be careful sitting at the desk or on the edge of his bed. Silvia once tried to put her head in his lap, a gesture he welcomed with glee — it warms him to receive her affectionate gestures. But the second she rested the helmet on his lap, he had to push her away. The helmet was unimaginably heavy, crushing his legs and pinching his skin. Silvia snorted and tried to put her head back on, but Gladion jumped up and walked away as soon as he could.

He scratched the tops of his thighs and tried to imagine constantly carrying such a hard weight around on his head. He rubbed his neck and shuddered at the thought.

——-

Gladion wrestles for a while with the question of which window to draw back the blinds on. He doesn’t want Silvia to start thinking this room is all there is. He doesn’t want the motel to be just another prison. But if he gives her glimpses of the outside world, he fears she’ll grow overwhelmed just like the first few days. Will the blue expanse of the ocean just confuse her, should he open the window by his bed? Would the sight of people and Pokemon walking by outside terrify her, should he open the two front windows by the door?

In the end he decides the ocean is a more static sight, and something Silvia will have to get used to sooner or later. As she reclines at the foot of the bed one day he reaches over and draws back the green curtain. Silvia snorts and stands up at the sound, looking over the edge of the bed to investigate — then she stops short. She inches forth. She approaches the window on stiff legs, taking in the eggshell-blue sky and frothing ocean outside. 

Gladion murmurs, “It’s okay, Silvia. That’s outside.” His fingers are on the Pokeball beside him, ready to prevent a panicked rampage.

Silvia reaches the windowsill and stops, her whole body deathly still. The sunlight illuminates inside her helmet in a way Gladion has never seen before. Her eyes are bigger than he realized, and her pupils lighter. They’re the same gray as the feathers cascading down her neck. 

Minutes tick by as Gladion waits for Silvia to become overwhelmed. When she moves, Gladion jumps, so tense is he in anticipation.

Silvia eases herself into a sitting position, and leans forward until the hook of her helmet rests on the windowsill. She grows still. Her body is relaxed.

Gladion watches her with a feeling he cannot describe, as if the overstimulation he expected her to endure bloomed inside him instead. He almost has to blink back tears.

Silvia watches the waves for a long time, until the sun begins to set to the west and the sky changes color. She snorts and lifts her head every time a Wingull or Pelipper wheels high overhead, but returns to resting on the windowsill when they soar out of sight. Sometimes, when Gladion glances over, he can see her eyes drifting shut. Maybe the sight of the waves calms her — maybe tomorrow he’ll crack the window, so she can smell the salty breeze and hear the rush and ebb.

The drapes are never drawn shut after that.

——

Silvia learns her own name easily enough — Gladion calls it every time something interesting happens. He maintains his ritual of saying, “Hi,” when she makes eye contact, which happens often, given her tendency to stare every time he so much as shifts in his chair. The both of them must be sick of that word at this point.

One day Gladion visits the town he saw the first day he came to Alola. He dresses in the most out-of-character clothing he can — a gray hoodie, black pants, and a godawful pair of red sneakers — and brushes his bangs over his eye. It’s idiotic and he can barely see, but he dares to think it makes him unrecognizable. 

He uses the TV, turned off, as a mirror and practices his surliest glare. Everyone at Aether called him the biggest sweetheart, especially the ones working in conservation, which is where he spent most of his time. He was good with the Pokemon there and polite to everyone he met. He knows his big, expressive eyes and heart-shaped face make him look like a doll — his mother’s told him as much. Even with the angriest look he can muster, he still looks like a pouting, gangly kid. 

He eyes the makeup he bought way back when, but decides against it. Even after living in this motel room for almost a month, he still hasn’t had the time to look up decent tutorials; all he’s done is research stuff for Silvia. She’s taken up almost every waking minute of his day. It surprises him how quickly he took to it. 

He keeps his hands in his pockets and his back hunched the whole walk there, hands gripped on his money and Silvia’s Pokeball. It made him anxious leaving her ball at the motel room. He avoids eye contact with everyone he sees, a task much more difficult than he anticipated. For some reason, everyone seems to want to stop him and say hi, and ask who he is and where he’s going. It’s jarring, and annoying, and makes his heart race every time someone stops him, fearing recognition. But no, everyone just wants to wave their hands in a rainbow shape and say, “Alola.” Why “Alola”? No one went around spouting “Aether” back at home. He’s sure no one in Kanto runs around repeating “Kanto” like a Chatot. 

He’s practically running by the time he gets to the library. Breathing a sigh of relief, he wanders around looking for any book he can find on teaching Pokemon Idem. Practically half the library is dedicated to information relevant to Trainers, and he has no trouble finding a good selection. He takes no less than fifteen books down to the desk, gets himself a library card, and lugs them all back to the motel. 

He sets them down on the floor near the bed and releases Silvia. She looks around, unused to being in her ball during the daytime, and busies herself with thoroughly inspecting the books. Gladion sits on the end of the bed, picking up a thin, introductory book with a bright and colorful cover. It’s geared toward Trainers, and it shows — the words it features most are attack prompts. Not useful when Gladion is trying to teach Silvia “shower” instead of “tackle.” 

There is a common theme: repetition. So Gladion sets out to be repetitive. Between perusing the books for the good bits and looking up videos and anecdotes on message boards for problem Pokemon, Gladion teaches Silvia Idem. He points, and labels; this is the window, this is the floor, this is the chair, this is your leg. Silvia, forever nosy, never averts her stare, and thus absorbs. Gladion has never spoken more in his entire life — he lies in bed at night, jaw sore, and chugs water to replace the spit he used up talking.

One concept he goes over every day is body parts. He pats her shoulders, then his own, and repeats, “Shoulders.” He does the same with all of her body in the hope that she’ll realize they’re much more alike than different.

The first few days feel absolutely hopeless, speaking to a Pokemon that can’t talk back, and every book he reads warns that this is normal. He knows it isn’t hopeless when one day he says offhand, “Silvia, you want food?” and she perks up at him. She starts when he stands suddenly in glee, a big grin on his face. “You did it!” he crows, prancing up to her; she lifts her feet high as she trots to meet him, imitating him instantly. He winces as one of her helmet’s spikes catches on his arm. She leans into his hands as he rubs her shoulders, her favorite spot to be touched.

He can’t wait for the day she’ll fully understand, “It’s okay.” And, “Silvia, please don’t pee on your bed.”

———

Gladion needs to run to the front office to deposit another payment for his stay, and figures Silvia will be safe enough out of her ball for the few minutes it takes to do so. “Silvia,” he says, getting her attention. “I’ll be right back, okay? I’m going out for a little bit.”

She watches him silently, expression absent due to the helmet. “You understand?” he prompts, hoping for a response of some kind.

None comes. “Okay, you’re going to be alone for a few minutes. I won’t be here. Don’t worry, all right? You’re going to be fine. I’ll be back in five minutes. Don’t break anything.” No acknowledgement. “Okay.”

Gladion closes the door behind him slowly, sticking his head in for as long as possible to watch Silvia. She just stands there. He closes the door and waits outside listening, in case he hears panic. All he hears is silence, so he forced himself to walk away. Realistically he needs to let Silvia be alone sometime in the future, but he didn’t anticipate how hard it would be.

Payment goes as usual, though the woman behind the desk cheerily asks where his parents live. Gladion says, “Out,” turns and leaves, and has to physically refrain from flinging himself off the nearest cliff when he realizes what he just said.

Shaking off the embarrassment of that encounter — it seems he hasn’t spoken to another human being in a long enough while to make him an awkward mess — he unlocks his door and lets himself in. “I’m home,” he calls, sighing a little.

Silvia, near the bed, spins at the sound of the door unlocking. Gladion barely has a moment to say, “Hi-“ before she breaks into a charge and rams her head into his chest, helmet-first.

Pain explodes in his stomach; he cries out and grips Silvia’s helmet, falling back against the wall. “Silvia!” he whimpers, arms shaking, trying to push her away. “Silvia, stop!”

She drives the helmet into him, crushing him against the wall. Whatever’s happening to his stomach is the worst pain he’s ever felt. _“Silvia!”_ he yells, in vain, as she doesn’t react one bit.

Squaring his feet under him, Gladion shifts his weight to one foot and drives his knee into her chest. Hard.

She stumbles back, an alarmed wheeze hissing out of her helmet. Not far enough. Gladion lifts his foot and kicks her shoulder as hard as he can.

Silvia shrieks, stumbling backwards. She trips on her hind leg and falls heavily on her side, claws scrabbling at the ground. She heaves herself to her feet and retreats to the corner by the shower curtain, rump against the wall, feet planted far apart to brace herself. She hisses savagely, weaving from side to side and never taking her eyes off Gladion. 

Gladion sinks to the floor, his knees too wobbly to support him. It feels like his guts have been ripped out. He presses his shaking hands to his stomach and watches Silvia, inching for the door in case she charges again. He glances down at his chest, expecting tons of blood — surely the pain he felt means he’s bleeding profusely — but finds only a rip in his gray hoodie and the white shirt he was wearing underneath. A thin, shallow cut mars his skin along the bottom of his ribs, and a bruise is forming. Otherwise he’s fine.

After what feels like an eternity he stands, his legs feeling like jelly. Silvia’s hiss rises in pitch, her ribs shaking from the force of it. Her limbs tremble. “Silvia,” Gladion says thickly, his voice alien to his own ears. Silvia snarls. “Silvia, it’s okay. I-I’m sorry.”

Silvia’s eyes are wild and scared. There is glass between them again.

Gladion reaches into his pocket for her Pokeball. “S-Silvia, return,” he stammers, and the Type: Null disappears.

He lies in bed for a while, trying to make sense of what happened. He holds one of the sink towels to his stomach until it stops bleeding, and he ordered bandaids to be delivered tomorrow. 

Just thinking of a few hours ago makes his chest hurt. Silvia has learned that she likes contact. Contact makes her feel good. She doesn’t understand that her helmet can be deeply damaging if she’s not careful. She hasn’t made the connection yet that Gladion can feel the same things she can. “Stop” should’ve been one of the first things he taught her. He did her a disservice every time he elaborately dodged her helmet instead of standing firm and teaching her to be more careful with herself, because now it’s culminated into this.

He got complacent. This isn’t a Growlithe he can play with; this is a creature designed to kill aliens.

He crosses his arms over his face, wincing when it pulls at his stomach, and groans. He could’ve just undone every bit of progress he made with Silvia, and it’s all his fault.


	2. the kindest word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You are _so_ weird,” Gladion accuses.
> 
> Language warning: c-word at one point.

Gladion has stalled long enough. It’s past noon the next day when he releases Silvia again. 

Silvia fills the entire room, all burnished brown helmet and dark muscle. Her helmet swings round for her silver eye to pierce him. She snorts and stumbles away from Gladion until her flank hits the wall. There she resumes weaving, hissing and clenching her claws deep into the carpet. “Hi,” Gladion murmurs, and her hiss deepens into a snarl.

Gladion sits at the end of his bed and tells himself to relax. “Silvia,” he continues softly, “I’m really sorry. I hurt you and I’m sorry.”

Gladion doesn’t apologize much, and hasn’t had the context with Silvia to introduce her to the word. It’s meaningless to her. Likely he didn’t even hurt the massive beast, considering the difference in their strength, but the fact that he raised force against her matters to them both. He pauses, trying to figure out how to phrase what he wants to say. “Helmet.” He forms a cage around his face with his splayed fingers. “Your helmet hurt me and you wouldn’t get away.” He clenches his fists and digs his knuckles into his temples. “I had to hurt you to make you go away. I didn’t want to, but I had to.”

He’s not sure if she understands what he’s saying, but she’s stopped hissing, though hasn’t let up on her defensive stance. “But I won’t do that anymore, okay? It won’t happen again. I promise.”

Gladion can’t say more. He decides to give Silvia space, and stays on his bed curled up with his laptop and mindlessly watching anime. When he glances up a while later he sees she’s moved out of his sight toward the shower, and he tries not to feel so discouraged.

He opens the window next to his bed, hoping the smell of the sea might tempt her to hang out by the window, but she never appears. If he concentrates he can hear her sniffing the air from around the corner of the wall, but she refuses to investigate closer to him. It hurts.

Every time he gets up to get food or go to the bathroom, Silvia scrambles to her feet and stalks to the opposite end of the room, head low and hissing lowly. Gladion stands still and watches her, at a loss. He’s spent long enough used to her heavy presence at his back that her aversion unnerves him. He resists the urge to approach her and goes about his business.

Breakthrough happens when Gladion pads to the desk to blend up her dinner; she lurches to her feet and hisses when he comes into view. Ignoring her, Gladion gets everything ready, watching suet and kibble spin in the blender and feeling like the same has happened to his brain. He turns around slowly with the cup and jumps a little when he sees Silvia quite close to him, huge body filling the middle of the room. She lowers her head and hisses, but watches her dinner intently. 

“Hi,” Gladion whispers. “Are you hungry?” Silvia leans on one side and lifts one of her front claws, pawing shallowly at the carpet. “Okay, I think you are. Come here, girl.”

She obeys, with halting footsteps. Gladion waits patiently, and lifts the cup obligingly when she’s close enough. She keeps her distance as Gladion feeds her, uncharacteristically still and making no move to push against him.

Relieved she isn’t going on a hunger strike, Gladion offers her water, which she takes. He cleans up, puts the blender away, and sits down on the lip of the bathtub, wetting a sponge to wipe down her helmet. 

Silvia approaches slowly, knowing routine. She falters when Gladion outstretches his hand, then continues, until she walks her shoulder into his fingers and stops. Waiting. “Hi, Silvia,” Gladion whispers as she glances nervously down at his face. He rubs gentle circles into her shoulder. “Good girl.”

Gladion stops the water and uses both hands to massage Silvia’s shoulders and chest. After a minute or so Silvia snorts in a manner she reserves for when she’s calm; Gladion smiles instantly at the noise, speaking out loud so he won’t burst into a giggle, “Are you feeling better?”

Silvia swings her helmet up in a familiar fashion. She sidles around until her rump touches the wall beside the bathtub; she kneads the carpet with her back paws and bends her knees, working herself into a sitting position, and then lies down facing Gladion. She swipes his sock. “Okay, okay, I get it,” Gladion chuckles, scratching along her cool back with his fingertips.

Silvia’s front leg lifts the closer he gets to her chest. Gladion bends over and reaches around her helmet and limbs to rub her belly. Every time he stops, Silvia claws the air needfully with her front paw. “What, does that feel good?” Gladion demands. “I didn’t know you like tummy rubs.”

He pets Silvia for awhile longer, stopping periodically to make sure she always instigates more, and rubs her feathery neck while he sponges down her helmet. She follows him around as he gets his pajamas on and gets ready for bed. When he sits down on the edge of his bed she pads up to him, lowering her head slightly as though to rest it on his lap. 

He catches her by the sides of her helmet and holds her back with all his might, saying sharply, “No.” Silvia jumps and freezes, pupils small — he has never before used such a tone. “It’s okay,” Gladion croons, voice softening. “You’re okay as long as you’re there. No putting the helmet on me. No more of that.”

Again she tries to push forward, and again Gladion barks, “No!” and shoves back — his foot lifts in case, god forbid, he needs to kick. Even all his might barely keeps her momentum in check, but Silvia stops herself. Gladion hopes he’s right in thinking he sees gears turning in her head. 

Silvia huffs, as if to say, _Well, fine then._ She slowly sits in front of Gladion and doesn’t move closer. “There you go!” Gladion praises. “Good girl! Best girl!”

Gladion pets and scratches her for a while, hoping to mitigate any remaining tension with affection, before putting her away in her Pokeball for the night. He relaxes in bed with a blissful sigh, feeling like a weight is off his shoulders. He tucks Silvia’s ball, its top shining red in the moonlight from his window, next to his pillow.

———

It takes Silvia some time to incorporate the concept of Gladion’s pain into her perception of him, but Gladion has resolved to be diligent with that lesson. When giving her meals he stands resolute on the floor, feet squared and braced, and if Silvia pushes too hard against him in her eagerness he lifts the cup over his head and reprimands her with a sharp, “No,” in a tone he knows she hates. He takes to sitting on the floor periodically, wary of her excitement to roll all over him, and jumps up and walks away if she crosses the line. 

Silvia’s miserable at first, trying to initiate contact and driving Gladion away when she fails to realize she was too rough with him. She seems to be irritated with this new, sensitive Gladion who refuses to indulge her every whim. She paces moodily the first few times he denies her food or walks away to ignore her, and walks close enough to the wall that her helmet scrapes against it, seemingly on purpose. When Gladion gets a noise complaint from his neighbor, he reprimands Silvia for that too, which just makes her moodier.

Gladion has never been rough with Silvia, aside from the kick born of panic, but he interacts with her more gently still. His pets and rubdowns are careful, and his words always tender — he hopes to inspire similar gentleness in Silvia by making it the norm. 

“Hiiii, girly,” he purrs when Silvia pads up to him as he’s two episodes into an Iron Chef Alola marathon on his laptop. She knocks her leg into his knee demandingly, earning a scratch, before suddenly perking up and trotting away. She returns a minute later, her red ball clenched in her claw; she hobbles along on three legs as she drags the ball on the ground in front of her. “What’re you doing, silly girl?” Gladion asks, pausing his show. When she reaches the bedside she lifts her foreleg to painstakingly place the ball on the bed beside Gladion, moving so slowly and carefully she might think herself performing brain surgery. “Thank you?”

Silvia leaves again, waddling around the wall corner toward the shower. He hears scraping, then a clatter. Silvia reappears dragging Gladion’s shampoo bottle in a similar fashion and places it next to the ball. She has to plant her other front leg and lean to the side a great deal when she lifts her burdened foreleg, due to the awkward tightness of her skin. “Are you trying to say I need to shower?”

Gladion watches in amusement as Silvia retrieves a conditioner bottle, her unused rope toy, and a piece of the disassembled blender she must have knocked off the desk, adding them to her collection beside him. As she turns to retrieve something else she crouches and turns it into heavy swoop of her neck, uttering a tinny, _“Whoooop,”_ and keeping her head low as she hunts down more objects.

“You are _so_ weird,” Gladion accuses when Silvia returns with a book. She places it open and pages-down on top of the conditioner bottle and stares at her treasure trove intently. “I’ll cherish these,” Gladion assures, reaching over his laptop to pat the front of her helmet.

Silvia walks sideways along the bed until she stares at an empty stretch of comforter. Her breath catches, and she rears her front legs up, then back down to the ground. Her second try goes better; she lands both claws on the bed and slides forward on it, grunting. She rocks side to side, trying to lift her hind legs far enough to get on.

“Hang on, let me help you.” Gladion puts his open laptop on his pillow and slides off the bed. He gets next to Silvia and loops his arms under her lower belly, right in front of her hips, and heaves. “Oh my god, you’re so _heavy,”_ he wheezes. Silvia scrabbles forward, her front claws catching on the blanket, until one of her back paws finally gets high enough to land on the bed; she lurches forward across it and faceplants into the wall.

“Oh, great,” Gladion mutters, flopping into bed beside her. “This bed isn’t really big enough for the both of us.” Silvia rolls herself around until she’s facing Gladion, unsure on the soft surface of the mattress, and stands with her legs braced wide. She takes up the entire bed; every foot is in danger of slipping off a side. “It’s okay, it’s comfy up here. You’re doing great.”

Gladion sits patiently against the wall as Silvia considers her surroundings. Her claw hovers over his legs. “Don’t step on me!” Gladion warns. “And be careful of the helmet, too.” Silvia relents, leaning her head away from him and stepping over him. She stops with both sets of limbs on either side of his thighs; with a little sigh she sits and lies down, stretched across his lap.

Gladion’s feet barely stick out from under Silvia’s body, and her pointed ribs dig into his shins. Yet he smiles, wrapping his arms around her neck and resting his head on her muscled shoulder. _Who knew a beast killer would be so cuddly?_ he thinks, then immediately feels bad.

“Wanna watch some cooking shows with me?” he asks, reaching over to pull his laptop so it’s facing them both. “It’s like, when people play a game to make the best-tasting food. You win the game if your food tastes really good, and you lose if your food tastes bad.” He presses the space bar to resume it. “There’s a lot of cooking shows, but this one has smoke and flashing lights and stuff, and I think that’s cool.”

Gladion rubs Silvia’s shoulders as they watch. Part of her helmet is blocking his view, but he doesn’t mind, because she hasn’t looked away at all. Ten minutes in, Silvia starts creeping her claw forward to the laptop. Gladion doesn’t intervene, though his laptop is expensive. Silvia reaches forward until her claw is over the keyboard, then with a twitch, taps the space bar. The video stops. She taps it again, and the video plays.

Gladion bursts into shocked laughter. Silvia utters a strange, pleased gurgling sound, tapping the space bar over and over again. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you?” Gladion asks her as the audio hiccups. “Planning that this whole time? Come on, I want to see who wins.” He grasps her claw at its junction and pulls it back. “Let’s hold hands.”

Silvia settles down, her claw resting limp in Gladion’s palm. She squeezes it around his hand, and when it starts getting too tight Gladion says, “Ow.” She relaxes, having apparently found his threshold, and doesn’t grip too tight again.

Gladion barely pays attention to the show after that, his heart too busy swelling to twice its size. His legs fall asleep quick, but he focuses away from the staticky twinge. He puts the laptop flat on the bed and tucks the pillow under Silvia’s helmet so she can rest her head down and watch. She doesn’t let go of his hand the entire time.

———

Gladion gives Silvia a bath that night, a treat she particularly enjoys. It’s rare, since the water excites her greatly and she likes to splash, but if she’s good and calm he lets her soak for hours. She seems to be more comfortable afterwards, walking more easily and naturally, and certainly appreciates how good she smells. Gladion always hears her sniffing her own forelegs for the rest of the night.

Silvia rests her helmet on a towel on the lip of the tub, always so that her hook won’t let her head accidentally slip into the water. The last time that happened she spent ten minutes coughing and sputtering, and all Gladion could do was stress and pat her back.

“-with all these fancy dinners my mother would throw with these rich people, but other than that, I never _wore_ it,” Gladion says, continuing with a story he’s telling her. He massages her sides with a baby Pokemon-safe soap he ordered that got great reviews — it’s vanilla sugar, Silvia’s favorite. “And me and Lillie would always wonder — what’s the point of all these cool clothes if we’re not allowed to wear them most of the time? Mother always said we could rip them if we played too much and then _where_ would we be. Stuck with no good white suit for the next party. We might as well go in pajamas. But I _liked_ that suit. A lot! It was really comfortable.” 

Gladion pries his fingers underneath her helmet as far as they can go, scratching around feathers that never see the light; Silvia curves her neck toward him and closes her eyes blissfully. “Kind of weird how girls wear dresses for both fancy occasions and casual occasions, but it’s weird for me to walk around in a suit all the time. Isn’t that weird, Silvia?” She snorts. “Yeah, it is.”

Gladion works down her legs, cleaning the sharp gaps between her hard claws, then scrubs between the soft pads on her back paws. He squishes one of her toebeans and she grunts, flexing her short, blunt claws. “You are going to smell soooo nice.”

Gladion grabs the detachable shower hose and shuffles up to her helmet on his butt, looking her in the eye. “Hi. Ready for your head?”

Silvia flexes her shoulders and heaves her helmet up for him, tipping her head back. “Close your eyes and your mouth, okay? Let me know if you want me to stop.” Gladion puts the water on its gentlest setting and sticks the end in one of her eyeholes, wetting her head; water flows out of her helmet in its bottom gaps and the opening around her neck. He switches between her eyeholes and the gap on the top of her helmet that lets her crest flow out, rinsing her constrained and untouched feathers.

“Can I tell you a big secret?” he asks. “You can’t tell anyone, though. You have to promise.” Silvia blinks her big eye at him. He makes a show of looking over his shoulders, then whispers, “I don’t like wearing white. I hated it, to be honest. That and gold. Honestly, one of the best parts about being away from Mother is that I can wear black. It makes me feel . . . less exposed somehow. White is too open.”

He aims the shower head at her gray crest, watching her feathers darken one by one. “Same with Lillie, too. She doesn’t mind white, but she just loves the color pink. Sometimes she’d wear pink socks to see if she could get away with it, but Mother always noticed, and she’d throw a _fit._ It always had to be that dress, that hat, those braids.”

His sister’s smile fills his head. “You’d like Lillie,” he says quietly. “And Lillie would like you. She didn’t know much about you or the other Type: Nulls. Mother always said she was too sensitive. But she’s the sweetest person alive. She’d really, really like you.”

The more Gladion talks, the more his chest hurts. He can hear Silvia licking the inside of her helmet when he puts the shower hose away. “Eww, don’t drink shower water,” he snorts, grateful for a distraction. He splashes her, and she sends a clumsy splash right back with her front claw as she rests her head back on the lip of the tub. She takes any opportunity to rest her head.

While Gladion pets her neck, Silvia glances up at him. “Hi,” he says. Silvia looks away, then back at Gladion. “Hi.” She looks away, then back. “Hi.”

After a few more times of doing this, Gladion squints and says, “Are you doing this on purpose, you goof?” Silvia’s eyes flit rapid-fire back and forth, her game discovered. “You figured out how to make me say hi over and over again? You’re mean.”

Silvia closes her eyes. The shafts of her waterlogged feathers the helmet doesn’t cover suddenly stand on end. A low, metallic hiss emanates from her helmet. _“Hhhhiiii.”_

Gladion’s heart just about stops. _“Hiiii,”_ Silvia repeats. “Hiii. Hhhhhhhhiii. _Hhhhi-iiii.”_

Her voice reminds him of a cartoon character, nasally and high-pitched. “Silvia, you can talk?” he demands, mind flying back to her files in case he missed a part, like that one of her components was a human or something. 

All Silvia says is, “Hiii.”

“Can you say anything other than hi?”

_“Hiii.”_

“Okay, I guess not.” Gladion swallows, trying to think. This isn’t so weird. Silvia isn’t even talking; she’s mimicking the word she hears the most. Bird Pokemon do the same thing, don’t they? And she does have feathers. Maybe a big old bird face is hiding in that helmet.

“You surprise me more every day,” Gladion tells her, poking her helmet between her eyes. 

“Hiiiiii,” she replies, and gurgles cheerily.

———

Aether Paradise is a floating paradox.

Paradise it is indeed. Its beacon of a white hull gleams with promise, its bulk so mighty no wave can stir it an inch in any direction. Its lush gardens overflow with colorful wildflowers and fruit trees, bubbling brooks and soft black soil. Its manmade walls thrum with electric power and clean pipe water. Every corner of its ahead-of-the-curve facility is ready to receive and enfold any ailing Pokemon with love and care. Predator and prey, twitching bird and bug, fish and feral feline. All are welcome.

The system is eternal. It is maternal.

For a time.

The Pokemon get shipped back, relocated, released with fondness and memories of time spent recovering.

For most of his life, it was all Gladion ever knew. To Lillie and him, Pokemon were temporary companions. He used to throw tantrums when his favorite Pidgey or Unfezant was deemed ready for release into the wild. For a period of time he grew cold to new Pokemon, sure it would save him the heartache of never seeing them again in the future. That didn’t last long. And then he saw it the way his mother did-

_Said that she did._

-and the beauty of it; they are continuing centuries of charity to humanity’s greatest companions with cutting-edge technology and generations of experience. No one can compare to Aether Paradise when it comes to caring for Pokemon. Paradise it was.

And then his mother took him down below.

———

The library has free Wifi, and Gladion has cabin fever. He yawns as he clicks around on his laptop, sprawled along a couch in the middle of a clear lounge space. He was in a far corner sheltered by bookshelves, but his need for an outlet drove him to sit under the TVs. Only a girl and a little boy sit nearby, pointing through a picture book together. Murmurs squeeze through lopsided rows of books, but never too close.

He scrolls through Aether’s Chatoter page for a mention of his own name, headphones blasting a new single from one of his favorite bands. A kid runs by next to him and Gladion looks up out of reflex for charcoal fur. He scratches his knee, idly debating about whether he should let Silvia out, but decides against it. That kind of decision takes planning. 

He has a nasty feeling Silvia has accepted the motel room as all there is just like her chamber was, given that she never displays interest in finding an exit. Does she even know she can move through space? For all Gladion knows, Silvia could consider their room her chamber with a renovation and a roommate. He bites his lip, considering. This step is crucial, but daunting; the last thing he wants is to panic her, but that’s not a good enough excuse to justify constraining her. She deserves the outside.

He clicks out of an article about the four Tapus and sighs, leaning his head on the back of his chair. The girl near him goes up to one of the TVs to raise the volume, backing up before the screen to watch. 

A televised Pokemon battle blares through the library, and some people stop to catch glimpses. Green and red lights strobe along the edges of a hexagonal stage, its inhabitants writhing and bellowing as they battle. An Onix sweeps its opponent off its back with a twist of its serpentine spine, gummy maw opened to strike. The enemy, a bristling Hydreigon, flaps into the air and circles above it, swooping intermittently to snap at the Onix with its jawed forelimbs. The crowd jumps and roars in the stadium surrounding them, chanting their names. 

With a sweep of its mighty head, the Onix catches the Hydreigon in the air and strikes it down. It twists over its downed opponent, roaring at the audience in triumph, which bellows back. Its trainer jumps in the air, fists pumping and grin wide.

Gladion curls his lip. What a pointless, shameless display, to think of battling like a game. The only battling Gladion’s ever witnessed is spectacles like these, broadcasted to masses hungry for a show. It strikes him as heartless. Isn’t the point of training Pokemon to become better? To help a Pokemon become stronger? To help a Trainer learn patience and care?

The girl and child across from him point and bounce excitedly at the TV screen, oohing and aahing. The Onix showers the platform in rocks, flaunting its might as the Hydreigon limps offstage with its Trainer. It must be easy to market Pokemon battles as cheap entertainment, with an audience as eager as the world can be. 

Stupid.

——— 

Gladion opens the front windows. He does it with Silvia ready behind him, after a long, one-sided talk about what the windows would reveal. He told her to look away if she starts feeling bad, and to come join him on the bed to calm down.

Gladion’s heart races as he sees people walking by the faraway road, their Pokemon close by. Silvia maybe had a glimpse of Faba that one time, but she’s never seen any other human or a Pokemon. Gladion counts three women and a man talking by the fence, and a Snubbul, a Grubbin, and a Brionne in various places, running circles in the parking lot and calling to each other. Birdsong sounds sweetly from the forest across the road, and the faint sound of ocean waves provides constant backdrop. The air is fresh and warm, livening up their stuffy motel room instantly.

He takes a deep, shuddery breath. Everything he considers so commonplace it doesn’t even register will hit Silvia like a tsunami. “Okay, you can look now.” Silvia, curious and oblivious to his fears, presses up to his side to see out the window. Gladion watches her nervously. Silvia steps right up to the opening of the window and snorts out a low rumble, her ribs stuttering with shocked breaths. 

Gladion’s fingers twitch, wanting to reach for Silvia and reassure her. Adding an entire new dimension to her world was scary enough the first time. Now he cares for her emotional wellbeing as well as her general safety, and her discomfort is unbearable. 

He leans on the wall next to the window and tries to discern her mood by her eyes. She stares unblinkingly at the world outside, her eyes wide, her pupils small. Unending ocean and the occasional seabird at the other window must be nothing compared to this. Now there’s ambiguity. Now there’s change.

Silvia robotically sits down, her head perched on the sill like she always does at the other window. Gladion wonders if she even thought to do it, or if she took this familiar position out of comfort. “Are you okay?” he asks timidly. Silvia doesn’t answer in any way. “Really. Do you want to take a break?”

He fidgets beside her, not knowing what to do. The Brionne outside whistles and leaps into its owner’s arms, and they walk down toward the rocky beach behind the fence. The Snubbul and Grubbin start playing hopscotch on chalk left by kids a few days ago.

Gladion gets up. “Watch me, okay, Silvia?” It takes her a moment, but she tears her eyes away from the window to look up at him. Gladion walks around her and opens the door, letting himself out. He stands in front of the open window, waving at Silvia inside. Her helmet and crest fill the window like a disturbing decoration. “Hi!”

“Hiiii,” Silvia answers after a pause. Her eyes are wide and staring.

“This is outside,” Gladion murmurs, kneeling on the deck in front of the window and reaching in to rub Silvia’s shoulder. “I told you before how we’re in a building called a motel, and this is our room. Out here it’s not a room, and there’s grass and trees and the ocean nearby, and all sorts of buildings, with more rooms, and more people and Pokemon.”

He moves to the side so she can see. Silvia appears greedy for it, quickly refocusing on the outside world, though her breath shudders, and her helmet scrapes along the windowsill with the force of her shaking. “See that little pink thing over there?” Gladion says to her, pointing; Silvia’s eyes follow where he gestures. “And the little bug beside it? That’s a Pokemon called a Snubbul, and the other one’s a Grubbin. You’re a Pokemon too, just a different species. You’re called-“ Gladion pauses, wrestling between terms, before deciding to be honest. “You’re called a Type: Null, but your name, for you, is Silvia.”

Gladion points at the people at the road. “Those are humans, like me. I’m a human, and my name is Gladion. They’re over there talking, and the Snubbul and Grubbin are their Pokemon, just like you’re my Pokemon. Making sense?”

Gladion shifts so he’s sitting on his legs beside the wall. Silvia tries to look over the edge of the windowsill to see what he’s doing, but her helmet won’t let her move her head out more. “This black ground is called a parking lot, and it’s where people can put their cars. All the way over there is this building called a Pokecenter, and it’s where anyone can walk in and get all kinds of Pokemon stuff. Pokeballs, healing supplies, food. I get your food from there. You hear that rushing noise? That’s the ocean, over that little cliff behind the fence. You’ve seen it before. It’s like a bath- the biggest bath there is, and salty and fun to swim in!”

Gladion points upward. “The sky is always blue like this, and sometimes there’s clouds, those white things you see? And you can’t really see it from our windows, but there’s this ball in the sky called the sun. It’s far away, so far away no one’s ever been close to it. It makes the world light up and warm, and it goes away every night so the moon can come out.”

Gladion falls silent, watching Silvia out of the corners of his eyes as she absorbs. She’s taking deep breaths through her nose, her gray eyes unable to focus on one thing for long. Gladion leans his head on the wall and closes his eyes, enjoying the fresh air on his skin. Windows just don’t cut it after a certain point.

“So what do you say?” Gladion asks, after several minutes of silence. “Do you feel up for coming out here with me?”

Silvia glances at him, then back out. The distant people on the street wave and depart, one going further down Route 8 and the other heading for the jungle. He sees the woman glance curiously over at him, probably wondering why a boy’s kneeling on the deck under a strange shape in the window. The Grubbin trots beside her, clacking its mandibles with every third step. 

Silvia stares until long after they depart. She utters a low groan, unmoving from where she leans her head. “You don’t have to right now,” Gladion tells her. “We’ll go outside when you feel good about going outside, okay? Just let me know when you feel it.”

———

Silvia sits by the window for the rest of the day, snuffling the fresh seaside air and going rigid whenever a person or Pokemon walks down the road. Gladion sits at the desk instead of the bed because it’s closer, ready to jump into action if Silvia needs anything. He spends most of his time looking out his own window next to the desk, scrutinizing passerby for their potential to cause panic; everything from a group of rowdy teenagers to a couple of playing kids sets him on edge, and he’s ready to employ every method he knows of calming Silvia from a terror. Silvia handles it all like a champ, to her credit; she only leaves the window to approach Gladion and ask him for some water. She constantly returns to the window to bask in the outdoors.

The next day Gladion opens the window for her again, and there she remains for most of the morning. Around 2 p.m., Gladion sits contorted in his desk chair, lazily switching between browsing Pelipackaging for random items and scrolling through his newsfeed for any word on Aether, or his own missing condition. Some college student did a profile piece on his mother and scored a Skype interview with her; he knows he shouldn’t, but he reads through it anyway, recreating every quote about preserving the sanctity of Pokemon habitats and welfare in her voice. He can do it perfectly.

Silvia pads up behind him, snorting quietly. “Hi, stinky,” Gladion greets, lolling his hand in her direction; she bumps it with the front of her helmet and blinks at him. “Do you need anything?”

Silvia turns stiffly and pads to the door. She lifts her front claw and scratches it, then turns and regards Gladion impassively. He sits bolt upright in his chair. “You want to go outside?”

Silvia gurgles and hops her front legs up a few inches to stamp them down. Gladion scrambles out of his chair, heart in his throat. “Wait a minute, okay? Let me get ready.”

Silvia sits by the window while Gladion gets dressed. He makes a great deal more of a mess and fuss than he needs to. His fingers tremble as he ties his shoelaces. No one tends to be out walking this time of the day because it’s prime nap time, and the heat can get stifling. Besides that, it’s overcast, and he heard thunder rumbling in the distance earlier this morning. The chances of them encountering another person are low. The only problem would be if a curious Pokemon approached Silvia to try and figure her out, but he prays wild Pokemon aren’t so bold if they realize he’s not a Trainer.

Gladion sets his elbows on his knees and takes a deep breath. He’s told Silvia numerous times that anyone outside won’t hurt her, and that she’ll be fine anywhere they go, but he still can’t predict whether she’ll become overwhelmed and panic.

Silvia looks up as he crosses the room toward her, and goes to stand in front of the door. “Silvia,” Gladion says, getting down and kneeling in front of her. “Let’s talk before we go outside, okay?”

Silvia sits, looking down at him. She lifts her front claw and places it on his knee; he puts his hand over it. “Now, remember when I told you about people and how they won’t hurt you? I just want to make sure you know that. If we go outside, a person or a Pokemon might try to go up to us and talk to us. If that happens, just stand next to me and don’t move, all right? I’ll handle it. You don’t have to hiss at anyone or run. Everything will be fine.”

Silvia snorts, the air whistling out of the gaps in her helmet. “Don’t leave my side, you understand? Always stay with me. And if you start feeling bad, let me know, and I’ll put you in your ball and we’ll come back here.” 

Gladion stands, rubbing Silvia between her shoulder blades. She shallowly curves her body and leans into his touch. Her ribs shake. Gladion tells himself to quit stalling and checks his pockets one last time, making sure he has Silvia’s ball and his motel key, before opening the door.

A quick look around reveals not a soul in sight. Gladion goes outside first, creating a point of safety for Silvia in front as well as behind her. He leaves the door wide open and backs up to give her room on the patio. 

Silvia loiters in the doorway, her legs braced wide as if for impact. She lowers her head and sniffs the air hard, eyes flitting from side to side. “It’s okay, girl,” Gladion croons. “I’m here.”

Silvia lifts her front claw and sets it down on the wood of the deck. She flinches back and sniffs the deck suspiciously, unused to a hard surface after so long on a rug. Slowly she emerges from the room, body low to the ground; shadow gives way to sunlight on her helmet, then her bare back. Gladion waits patiently to receive her, reaching forth to hold her helmet and patting her shoulder in a familiar way as she gets within reach. “You’re doing amazing, honey.” And there she stands: a Type: Null, outside under the sun for the first time.

Silvia takes deep breaths through her nose, swinging her helmet right to spy the ocean, then down at the ground to inspect the short distance down between the deck and the pavement. “This way, Silvia,” Gladion says, keeping hold on one of her helmet spikes as he leads her to the stairs. She has trouble, anxious rasps issuing from her throat while she tries to figure out how to navigate them. “Remember how you got off the bed that one time? One foot down, then another- and now your back feet- yes, good! You did it!”

Silvia lifts her feet high with every step as they get to the parking lot, the roughest surface she’s ever experienced; Gladion pats the blacktop with his bare hand to make sure it’s not too hot from the sun that it’ll burn her toe pads. Thankfully the overcast sky shielded the pavement from getting baked. 

Halfway across the parking lot, as Gladion glances back at the windows of the motel for fear of someone peeking out their windows and seeing them, he gets distracted watching Silvia walk beside him. Even though the sun is hidden, he can see through her eyeholes clearly; her eyes are wide and unblinking, her pupils small, exposed to everything around her and soaking it in. She looks terrified; she looks entranced. “First time you’ve ever been outside,” Gladion says under his breath in wonder. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

Exactly what, he has yet to say. Gladion stops Silvia at the road. She sidles closer to Gladion, looks nervously at all the open space around her; Gladion curls an arm over her back for security. “This is a road called Route 8. Lots of people walk on it to get places. There’s a big town down that way,” Gladion says, pointing to the opening in the trees to their right, and then to the left, “and that red building right there is the Pokecenter I told you about. Let’s go this way, okay? Let’s go in the woods.”

They cross and get to the sidewalk, heading up Route 8. Gladion’s grip on Silvia’s spike is white-knuckled. Her black-and-gray body and bizarre helmet, backdropped by comfortable forest scenery, looks incredibly out of place. Silvia grunts and startles as a couple of leaves scrape across the road, tumbled by the wind; Gladion sticks close, praying she doesn’t bolt. The thought of having to run after Silvia is a scary one. “It’s okay! It’s okay, Silvia, those are just leaves, from the trees. It’s just the wind.”

Whether Silvia understands what he’s saying or not, Gladion can’t be sure; she might not even be listening, so focused is she on peering into the depths of the forest beside them, or swinging her helmet left to watch the gray ocean sweep by. “Pretty, huh?” Gladion asks, hoping that filling the silence will keep both of their anxieties at bay. “It’s a nice view.”

As they round the shallow bend down Route 8, Gladion sees a distant figure headed their way: a person, and beside them a small Pokemon. Gladion’s heart leaps into his throat. He looks around, hoping Silvia hasn’t sighted them yet. Spotting a trail through the trees to their right, Gladion leans against Silvia’s shoulder, guiding her to it. “Here, let’s go in the woods! It’s nice and quiet there.” Silvia resists his push for a moment before his words register, then goes peacefully. Pavement gives way to hard-packed dirt beneath their feet; Silvia startles for a moment before continuing.

Gladion breathes a sigh of relief as the trees envelop them, padding down the crash of the waves in the distance. A cushioned silence enfolds them, replacing Wingull cries with soft birdsong and bug calls. The wind hisses through the dense canopy above. It’s dark between the trees’ scraggly trunks; their branches bob with a pre-storm breeze. An undercurrent of thunder rumbles in the distance, barely audible. “We can’t stay out for long, Silvia.”

The dirt road ends in a small meadow, filled with patches of lush long grass and red jungle wildflowers. Gladion guides his hand down Silvia’s jutting spine, cooing soothingly. As the dirt beneath them gives way to soft soil, Silvia jerks to a sudden stop. 

Gladion stumbles, spinning to gauge Silvia’s mood. “Hey, you okay?” he asks nervously. 

Silvia stands frozen, her front legs spread, her eyes unblinking. She bends her neck down slowly, staring at the ground. With her talons she kneads the dirt below, black soil and thin grass roots crumbling between her claws. The wind ruffles her gray feathers. Gladion backs away a few paces, sensing the space she needs.

Silvia snorts, tossing her head back and stamping the ground with her feet. She rears up on her hind legs, then whistles loud and clear, a noise Gladion has never heard her make. Grass clumps sail through the air, propelled by her back paws as she leaps forward, rocketing past Gladion and into the meadow.

She gallops through the grass, leaping and kicking like a puppy, sending dirt flying with every erratic turn she makes. She whistles a two-note song and runs in circles, directionless and giddy, her excited breath panting out with every ugly, stiff bound. Torn grass paints her legs and chest green as her talons tear up the turf. 

Gladion stumbles after her a few steps in amazement, his cheeks aching with a smile he cannot contain. “Silvia!” he calls. “What are you _doing?”_

Silvia, halfway through a sprint — or the best kind of sprint her constrained body is capable of — turns and charges Gladion instead. She whisks by him, stages an obtuse turn, and skids to a stop before him, shoulders down and butt in the air.

A loud laugh bubbles out of Gladion. He spins on his heel and runs, turning back to see Silvia bounding after him. 

For what seems like ages the two run circles around each other, the boy laughing and grabbing, the beast pausing to whistle loud and long and dodging every playful swipe. He chases her halfway across the clearing and yells when she spins around and goes for him; he dives behind a tree and cackles when she stampedes right by and skids to a stop in confusion. Bird Pokemon quiet their song from astonishment, or maybe respect, and gather cautiously high up to witness. Fomantis peek curiously out from under ferns at the strange pair, shadowed by Morelull and Paras. No one knows just what to make of it.

Gladion feels Silvia’s exertion, and eagerness, like a new sensation of his own. Silvia bounds all around Gladion, her body always curved to watch him — for any joy she feels must always reflect on him, and be shared with him. He opens his arms and stumbles back when she takes it as invitation. Even in excitement she doesn’t want to hurt him — she rears up and throws her front legs over his shoulders, keeping her helmet out of range, and because Gladion’s a weedy ten-year-old a fraction of her body weight, they go right down.

Gladion lands on his back and grunts, the wind knocked out of him. _“Ow,”_ he whines. Silvia stands over him and wiggles, her helmet in his face; Gladion just can’t stay mad at her. He grabs her helmet with both hands and leans up, looking her in her gray eyes. “Are you having fun?” he asks, his voice tinged with laughter. “Are you happy?”

Silvia whistles piercingly, twice, three times, until it’s a tune. Gladion has never wanted to see her face so badly.

A peal of thunder booms directly overhead, as if the storm moved house just to grab their attention. Silvia rasps and freezes up as its aftershocks crackle; Gladion winces and wriggles out from under her, assuring immediately, “It’s okay! No, it’s okay, it’s just thunder! It’s just a noise!”

That’s when he feels the first raindrop, right in the middle of his forehead. More splatter across the ground, darkening the soil where they hit, bursting off flat fern leaves. Silvia seizes up as they splash across her back, rasping in fear and confusion. 

Summer rains start quick in Alola. Within seconds those few drops escalate to a downpour, thunder rumbling in their ears while the forest around them turns gray. Silvia screeches, her grass-covered limbs scrambling as she tries to flee. Gladion yells, “Wait!” and fumbles in his pocket for her ball. She breaks into a run toward the trees; by the time he pulls it out he can only make out her bounding shape through gray sheets of rain, then nothing.

Gladion only has to endure several seconds of gut-wrenching panic and stumbling through the grass before he finds her again, taking meager shelter crammed up against the nearest tree trunk. She twitches with every raindrop like it’s a blow. Gladion almost passes out from relief; he wobbles up to the tree, kneeling before Silvia. “Don’t do that!” he begs. “Don’t ever run away from me. You always have to stay with me!”

Silvia’s trembling is so violent that he can see it through the rain. “W-Wait, I’m sorry.” Gladion moves closer, arms extended. “I’m sorry, I should’ve been ready for this. It’s not your fault you panicked. I shouldn’t get mad at you.” He brushes his knuckles across her shaking front leg; she lifts it and extends it toward him, needing reassurance. “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” he murmurs, holding her claw and squeezing it. “Here, listen to the noises. Remember what it is? It’s rain.” He holds out his cupped hand so she can see raindrops pool in his palm. “This is what rain is like when we’re not in the motel room. It’s just water falling from the sky and some noise.”

After the initial downpour, the rain lets up to a steady hard drizzle, until when Gladion looks around he can see the whole meadow again. Gladion shuffles backward on his knees; the both of them are soaked to the bone and covered in grass and mud anyway, so he doesn’t bother standing. Silvia gurgles and leans forward, eyes bulging, but doesn’t leave the tree’s meager security. “It’s okay, I’m not leaving you,” Gladion says. “The rain is really nice, see? It’s warm. I want to sit out here and enjoy it.”

He sits and waits, watching to see what Silvia does. For a while she snuffles in uncertainty, raindrops rolling down her helmet and back, alternating lifting each foot free from the mud. In fits and starts she lurches toward him until she huddles close; Gladion hugs her chest and pats her back. “It’s not so bad, right? Not bad at all.”

Silvia starts to perk up as she realizes the water isn’t hurting her, riveted on the flora that twitches with every landing raindrop. She waddles away from Gladion up to a fern, sniffing one of its leaves, and nervously jerks back every time the rain makes it move. Her claws clench in the wet dirt. She trots around to every grass patch like she’ll find something new there, then with a snort breaks into a run, bounding through the mud. 

“Here we go again!” Gladion crows as she stampedes around him, slipping and sliding in the displaced soil. He sits back against the tree, wincing when wet mud squelches under his butt, and laughs as he watches Silvia run and play. Every time she passes him she bounces sideways to face him, eyes shining bright and inviting out of her helmet, before taking off through the turf again.

Blue spots begin appearing in the sky overhead, and the rain lightens to a soft drizzle. Silvia, bouncing side to side in the middle of the clearing through puddles of rainwater, tries to execute a sharp turn; she slips and her feet go flying out from under her, landing hard on her side. “Silvia!” Gladion calls, shoes slipping when he tries to straighten up. A cheery whistle answers and stills him; Silvia rolls onto her stomach, none the worse for wear. Her sides heave as she pants from exertion, and her head droops.

She turns her helmet skyward. Her feathers are matted together and dark, and her black skin shines in the emerging sun. Her body’s coated with mud and grass chunks, her limbs and belly caked in slimy soil. Her gray eyes sparkle out of her dripping helmet as she watches how the sky clears. 

Gladion looks at her and feels his nose start to itch. His eyes get hot. He looks away from Silvia, wiping his muddy hands on his clothes and rubbing his eyes.

A ten-year-old boy shouldn’t have to introduce someone like Silvia to rain. To soil. To open air.

Gladion looks up again as he hears Silvia slipping around while trying to stand. She wades over and flops down onto her belly before him, front legs splayed around Gladion. He chuckles wetly. “Hi.”

“Hiii,” Silvia singsongs back. 

Gladion’s hands play with the grass around them. He picks a reddish flower and puts it on top of Silvia’s helmet. “Look at how pretty you look.” She blinks slowly. “Tired? Are you ready to head back?”

Silvia shrinks away when Gladion offers the ball, so they walk side by side back to the road. Gladion’s clothes cling wetly to his body and he shivers, rubbing Silvia’s shoulders. Only after they’ve walked by does he realize a pair of people just passed them on the other side of the road; he does a double take, dismayed at his disheveled state, then does a triple take when he realizes they must have just seen Silvia too. He locks eyes with one of them giving her a weird look and speeds Silvia along.

The beast herself barely notices anything around her; running around must’ve completely burned her out. She only wakes up when Gladion uses the hose near the back of the motel to wash her down, squawking in displeasure as the cold water hits her. “I’m sorry!” he says. “We can’t track mud in the room.”

He has Silvia wait on the deck while he removes his shoes, lays down her training pads in a path to the shower to minimize damage to the rug, and escorts her in. She seems to deflate once the door closes, surrounded by the motel room’s homey walls. “You did really, really amazing,” Gladion murmurs, scratching her neck. “But that’s enough for today.”

To save time he takes her in the shower with him, where she disrupts his shampoo routine by trying to drink the shower water. “Wait your turn,” Gladion orders, pushing her back to the far end of the tub. She grumbles and decides to lie down with her head on the lip of the tub, her reclining body taking up all available room and nearly toppling Gladion over. “Silvia, seriously?”

It takes forever to get all the mud off Silvia; no matter how long Gladion sprays inside her helmet, more brown water flows out of the bottom. They run out of hot water quick. Silvia’s grumpy and touchy and practically scrubbed raw by the time she decides enough is enough and lumbers out of the tub herself, leaving a trail of damp carpet in her wake. Gladion chases her down with a towel and dries what he can; inside her helmet just has to be left to air dry. He leaves his muddy clothes outside the motel room in front of the door, deciding to deal with it tomorrow. For now he’s chilly, pruned up, and weary down to the bone.

“I have done . . .” Gladion stumbles to his bed and pulls on his pajamas, eyelids drooping. _“. . . too_ much.” He flops onto the mattress and pulls the covers over his face, feeling like he’s never been more comfortable in his life.

Snorts and snuffles tear him from falling asleep right then. He rolls over to find Silvia standing at his bedside. “I’m gonna nap, okay?” he mumbles. “You go to sleep too.”

She utters a groan and rears up suddenly, splaying her hard front legs over Gladion’s body. “Whoa, Silvia!” he protests, wiggling out from under her. “What is it, girl?”

Silvia scratches at the mattress, trying to haul herself up. “What, you think you can just climb into my bed whenever you feel like it? Are you paying rent?” Silvia gurgles and slaps her claw down on the sheets. “Okay, you’re right, that was pretty harsh.”

Silvia grows still and levels her gaze on Gladion, as if to say, _Are you gonna help me or not?_ “You want to nap with me?” Gladion asks. “All right, well . . . let me just . . .” He twists around to look at his bed, mentally plotting out how this could work. The maneuvering never seems to end.

He gets up and drags Silvia’s bed to the bedside, in case someone falls off in their sleep because of the lack of space. He takes the comforter completely off the bed, and rummages around for the spare pillows provided by the motel. He fluffs them up and lines them up near the wall, next to and above his pillow, for Silvia to rest her helmet on; her obnoxious spikes can then slot between them, and won’t be level with Gladion’s head.

“Okay, up you go.” Gladion helps haul Silvia up onto the bed and guides her into lying down on the side closest to the wall. She chooses to lie down on her side with her back to him, uttering a tired sigh. Her back paws and tail hang off the end of the bed, and she leaves only a sliver of space for Gladion to occupy. Gladion grabs the discarded comforter and tosses it over them both, reaching over to tuck Silvia in and make sure she’s okay with being covered. “You earned it,” he tells her, rubbing her shoulder.

Gladion tries to settle down himself in his little patch of real estate, but Silvia keeps huffing and scraping her claw against the wall. “What, what do you want?” He pets her shoulder soothingly and the scraping stops, but the second he takes his hand off she starts it up again. “I can’t pet you forever, Silvia, I’m tired. Beds are for sleeping.”

Silvia performs an extremely loud scrape, as if to spite what he said. Gladion sighs in defeat and wriggles close, reaching around her to pat her stomach. “There, happy?”

Silvia gurgles and settles down. Gladion, finding this quite comfortable (and finding Silvia to be worryingly cold), decides to stay there. He drifts off, curled up against the massive beast’s back.

——-

Gladion wakes up around 9 p.m., groggy and disoriented. His arm is still comfortably draped around Silvia, who sleeps against him peacefully. Her body’s warmed up beneath his cheek. Too cozy to move, Gladion closes his eyes and falls right back asleep.

——-

recent google searches  
**is it normal to feel like your pokemon’s best friend**  
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**can a pokemon think its owner is its parent**  
**is it weird if pokemon is your only friend**  
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**is sharing bed with pokemon safe**

——-

The first time someone approaches him and asks him what Silvia is, Gladion has a whole host of excuses ready. It’s an older man in a sunhat, a Pikipek on his shoulder. Gladion glares up at him and says, “Absol.”

“That right?” the man says cheerily, oblivious to Gladion’s suspicious gaze. “I’ve never seen an Absol before. Aren’t they rare?”

“They are,” Gladion agrees, eyeing Silvia. She shifts her weight between her front legs, staring piercingly down at the man from where she sits beside Gladion. They’re hanging out in the grass by Route 8, watching people go by. Gladion expected someone to stop eventually — Alola’s inhabitants are a curious bunch, and Silvia is quite a sight — but it still sets his heart to racing. Silvia is frozen, eyes unblinking, but not acting too weird.

“What’s that thing on the head, there?” the man asks, petting his Pikipek. It’s huddled close to his neck and shaking; Gladion wonders if it’s shy. 

“She was born with a head thing where her, uh, skull didn’t fully form, so she has to wear this to, you know, keep things in place,” Gladion stammers.

“Oh, the poor thing. Looks awful scary.”

“It does.”

The man smiles cheerily at Gladion. “Well, would you mind if I registered this little lady to my Pokedex? I don’t think I’ll ever see another Absol again!”

“Oh, uh . . .” Gladion swallows. “Sure.” He’s never seen an actual Pokedex — everyone at Aether used computer databases — so he’s not sure what this one is going to tell the man. He watches nervously as the guy fishes out a red tablet, aims the camera end at Silvia, and clicks something.

Something inside the machine whirs. “Error. Pokemon not found,” it chirps.

“Oh, this rotten thing,” the man sighs. “Let me set it to chromosome mode.”

“Chromosome mode?” Gladion asks anxiously. That sounds scientific.

“Oh, this is one of those newer Pokedexes. It can identify Pokemon by sight, and it has another setting where it can zoom in on its molecules and identify it that way,” the man responds, like this isn’t the most damning thing he could have said. Gladion doesn’t even want to know what that gene-spotting Pokedex will find.

The man taps his Pokedex in that uncertain way older people always do with technology, and it whirs again. “Skarmory, the Armor Bird Pokemon,” it singsongs. “Its feathers, which fall off as it grows, are thin and sharp. In times long past, warriors used them as swords.”

“What?” The man taps it again.

“Luxray, the Gleam Eyes Pokemon. It has eyes which can see through-“ Another tap. “Houndoom, the Dark Pokemon. The flames-“ A hard, frustrated tap. “Skorupi, the Scorpion Pokemon. It-“ 

The man turns the Pokedex off with a sigh. “Knew this thing was too fancy for me. I can’t seem to get it to work.” He pockets it with a shake of his head. “Well, looks like my Pokedex is gonna stay incomplete. Chap, do you want to say hi to the nice Absol?” he asks his Pikipek.

It hops on his hand when prompted, but when he offers it to Silvia, who leans forward to sniff, it squeaks and takes off, latching onto its owner’s shirt. “Chap! What’s gotten into you? Oh, he might be feeling a bit sick. Let me get out of your hair, young man. Have a nice day!”

With a friendly wave the guy walks off, holding his bird and soothing it. Gladion, greatly disturbed and wishing he could scrub what he just heard out of his ears, lets out a shaky exhale and rubs Silvia’s back. “You okay?”

Silvia watches the man disappear around the corner intently, and after he’s been gone for a while she huffs and relaxes, finally blinking and looking at Gladion. “You did awesome,” he encourages. “That’s exactly what you’re supposed to do. Just let me do the talking and you, you know, be polite.”

Silvia swings her helmet to and fro, looking for more interesting people, but the road is empty. She eases into her stomach, resting her helmet between her forelegs so that it faces the ocean, and leans her rump on Gladion. Gladion leans back on her as he takes out a sandwich from his pocket and munches, watching the waves under the cliff they sit on.

Every day since the first time Silvia went outside, she’s wanted to go again. He usually takes her a little ways down from the Pokecenter so they can hang out in a relatively quiet area, surrounded by tall grass and shaded by a forgiving tree, so she can see both the forest and the waves. Sudden movements and noises — of which there are many, being the unpredictable outdoors — still make Silvia jump, but she’s handled it all remarkably well. Every person that walks by attracts her undivided, piercing attention, but she relaxes once they leave. Gladion couldn’t be prouder of her.

Silvia hasn’t seen the inside of her Pokeball since then either. Gladion’s bed is now hers, and Gladion’s been relegated to an honored guest. She sleeps either with her back to him or facing him, her legs draped all over his body. She refuses to sleep unless Gladion has his arm around her, and will make sure Gladion doesn’t get sleep either unless he complies.

Gladion combs his fingers through Silvia’s sun-baked feathers, avoiding her back. He doesn’t let her leave the room unless he puts baby Pokemon-safe sunscreen on her bare skin, and she hates the stuff. He has to make up for it with a bath every night. “What’cha thinking about?” he wonders. Silvia huffs in response. “Huh? You thinkin’ about stuff?”

Silvia huffs and shifts, shallowly curling her shoulders toward Gladion. She rests her head by him and sighs, her eyes lolling closed. “Me too,” he hums empathetically, his own eyelids feeling heavy. Lying here like this with her under the hissing leaves reminds him of all the times he and Lillie would play in the conservation center. They’d run through the grass and the shallow brooks arcing through the gardens, chasing and being chased by rambunctious Pokemon in their own personal utopia. Sunlight would beam from the windowed ceiling. He and Lillie would collapse in the flowers and laugh, and sometimes their mother would join them.

Sometimes. Not in the last few years. The perfect version of their mother that emerged bit by impeccable bit over the course of months on end would never get down in the mud like she used to. 

Silvia, dissatisfied with the way Gladion’s hand has stilled on her shoulders, huffs. When this doesn’t get his attention, she glances at him and huffs again. At a loss, she lifts her heavy head and stares at his stony face. Her claw touches his ankle. Gladion jerks back to reality and blinks down at her. “Oh. O-Oh, hey! What is it?”

Silvia continues to stare. “Sorry about that. I was daydreaming. Thinking about random things.” She stares. Gladion purses his lips. “Okay . . . I was a little sad. Nothing major.” 

Silvia has a vague idea what “sad” is. She was very interested in why a woman in a soap opera Gladion was watching once was crying. She recognizes that sadness means the person needs comfort. So when she reaches forward and digs her claws into Gladion’s ankle, Gladion is not altogether surprised.

It doesn’t stop him from uttering a little shriek.

——-

Silvia has finally had enough. She scrambles up from her spot and drags her feet to the end of the bed, scraping her claws on the comforter, and draws out a sharp, loud rasp. 

Gladion, sitting at the desk, leans back and drawls, “Silvia, oh my god, I’m _coming._ You can get a head start on sleep without me!”

Silvia smacks the bed with her claw. “Don’t be dramatic.” She rears up and smacks it with both claws. “You are such a diva. Hold on.”

Gladion picks up his laptop and the files he was reading and trudges to the bed. Silvia hurries him along with excited snorts and flops clumsily into her normal spot with her front legs in the air. “Heyy, don’t do that,” Gladion chides, kneeling beside her and leaning down to hug her. “It makes me nervous. What if you lie down too fast and your helmet gets stuck somewhere? It’ll break your neck.” Silvia responds by grasping Gladion’s face with her claw. “Thank you,” he mumbles against her palm. “I’m glad you took that to heart.”

He pets her until she settles down and dozes off, her chitinous front legs splayed over his chest. Gladion messes around on his laptop for a while — still no missing persons report, and nothing else suspicious from Aether — before shutting it. He shuffles through the Type: Null files to where he was last and skims to retrieve his place.

He stole three binders of material. The files are mostly big blocks of big words and monochrome diagrams — symbols abound, as well as longwinded chemical names and entire paragraphs of blacked-out text. In the margins between sections and all over the side is scribbled Faba’s loopy handwriting, jotted observations and elaborations on the present subject. 

After days of reading about skeletal structure and muscle mass, of which there seemed an endless amount of data (who knew creating a new creature was so extensive), he’s finally gotten to initial testing.

 **Log 47-a**  
BKs fully developed and aware. RKS System yet to be activated. Normal temperature hovering around 91˚ F. Body weight consistent 100kg. Eyes normal. Reflexes normal. Crest reactive and dispositions logged by crest position. Hindquarters widened .05in and expected to continue. Digestive tract clear and functioning. No pain noted. Physical flaws logged. Cosmetic surgery under consideration for skin expansion and ears. G1 most active and paces across cell. S2 and C3 have bouts of activity between long periods of rest.  
_So far the beast killers seem all right, if a little sloppy. They’re docile to each other and seem like they’ve set up their own little hierarchy, with G1 at the top. They take food well and don’t resist a bit when the machines manipulate them. Now all we need to do is connect the nerves in their ports to their brains, and RKS is up and running._

Gladion reads and rereads it. He’s not sure, but it sounds like all of the Type: Nulls were kept in the same area.

 **Log 53-a**  
BKs separated and sent for activation. To mitigate potential conflict, all personnel are required to interact with BK through robotic manipulation. Containment procedures ready.  
_We’ll introduce them to people eventually._

 **Log 53-b**  
Activation failed.  
_i have nothing else to say other than what the hell just happened_

 **Log 54-a**  
Upon initialization, all three models rejected RKS activation. All three models reacted extremely negatively and showed signs of duress. All three ceased life function for a recorded forty-six seconds. All three revived and showed extreme stress and unstable behavior. G1 broke containment and posed threat to loss of life. All three models subdued from a distance and contained. Neutralization considered.  
_Forget whatever Lusamine said — it’s a damn good thing I made those masks. The second we switched the RKS port on, the models died for almost a minute and then revived themselves and went ballistic. I’ve spent all night up trying to figure out what is and isn’t compatible here._

 **Log 59**  
Board recommends previously disapproved containment measure.  
_Once these things go on, there is no way to get them off again. It’s not my FAULT it came to this. I made them PERFECT._

What follows is a full-page diagram of the helmet encasing Silvia’s head, broken down part by part. Special emphasis is given to a caption pointing toward the round dial that covers Silvia’s cheeks, containing a green cross. _Nullification gel,_ the caption reads. _An idea of mine we’d be sorry to be without. Fills the screw and jams the RKS port, interrupting its signal. Like putting cotton in its ears. Until we figure out a way to either control the signals exchanged between their brains and RKS or just cut the nerve entirely they have to wear these. Considering they were welded shut, we’ll wait to figure out how to remove the helmets until we know we even can._

Gladion reaches up, gentle as he can, and prods the green cross in Silvia’s cheek disk. Sure enough, it gives under his prodding fingers before returning to its former shape. He never noticed it was a gel before.

 **Log 61-a**  
Six hours after suppression helmets attached, all three models returned to former levels of activity. All three are disoriented, but docile. Returned to containment chamber. All three appear afraid of each other before recognizing the other models.

Gladion glances over at Silvia. So she _was_ kept in the same chamber as the other Nulls. He was wrong in thinking she’d never seen another Pokemon before.

He keeps reading through a section that seems to repeat:

 **Log 65-a**  
Activation reattempt undertaken on model G1.

 **Log 65-b**  
Activation failed.

 **Log 66-a**  
Activation reattempt undertaken on model G1.

 **Log 66-b**  
Activation failed.

 **Log 67-a**  
Activation reattempt undertaken on model G1.

 **Log 67-b**  
Activation failed.

 **Log 68-a**  
Activation reattempt undertaken on model G1.

 **Log 68-b**  
Activation failed.

 **Log 69-a**  
Activation reattempt undertaken on model G1.

 **Log 69-b**  
Activation failed.  
_Every time we take the nullification gel screws out, G1 goes nuts. The RKS signal screws with its brainwaves in a way that removes inhibitions and triggers the fight-or-flight response. Only when we jam its ports do they return to normal. Did we really make these things for nothing?_

That G1 was put through so many tests, as the list goes on and on, makes Gladion shudder. He dreads a mention of S2.

 **Log 81**  
Reminder that G1 is extremely hostile toward machinery and humans. All personnel recommended safe distance from G1 during experimentation.  
_Somehow weakened the bind around its neck and broke Kelsey’s arm with its helmet. This one’s smart._

 **Log 95**  
Models S2 and C3 beginning to display resistance to mechanical prosthetics and struggle when subdued. Gentler methods recommended to reduce risk of aversion.  
_G1 taught the other two to fear the machines. S2 avoids them and gets defensive, and C3 hides in a corner and goes limp. We can barely do anything with them — they’re refusing to go into position when signaled. They’re fucking ruined. If it wasn’t so valuable to our work I’d throttle that vicious cunt myself._

The obscene language makes Gladion severely uncomfortable. He pauses, before resuming.

 **Log 101**  
Due to previous exposure to humans and the concept of obeying them, G1 has been selected as defense protocol for First Contact mission. Helmet has been thrice secured and the President has been briefed on G1’s unstable condition. President replied with skepticism that G1 will be necessary, but if it is, “I’m sure it’ll do its job very well!”  
_Mohn is a fucking idiot. The man has no idea what he told us to create. Sure hope Lusamine doesn't see these files. She'd eat me :)_

Gladion rankles. He considers putting these down, aware he cannot unread anything he sees. He glances over at Silvia, then continues on.

 **Log 105-a**  
Mission failed. President lost.  
_No one ever listens to poor old Faba._

It’s not as painful as he thought it would be, but that might be because he feels so numb. He reaches around the paper and grips Silvia’s wrist.

 **Log 105-b**  
G1 subdued and helmeted. After six hours of violent activity G1 returned to more docile state. Board is reconsidering funding for project.  
_G1 killed Mohn. There’s no way that’s not what happened. Lusamine’s been wailing for hours. what can I say except I told everyone so!!_

 **Log 120**  
G1 broke containment for forty-one minutes during routine RKS test. Six personnel sustained minor injures — three rushed to emergency care. President Lusamine recommends that the project be shut down. Type: Full has been renamed to Type: Null and all three scheduled for cryogenic storage until they can be disposed of.  
_no comment no FUCKING comment_

 **Log 145**  
After multiple petitions President Lusamine has approved hands-off testing. G1 and C3 have been designated unsalvageable and will remain in storage. Testing will move on from G1 to S2. S2 will remain isolated from direct contact to avoid same mistakes made with G1.  
_Thank you god!! All me!! only took me threatening to go to the presses for her to cave. Now I can get back to work! Aren’t you all glad I made sure you have a job again!!_

Gladion tears through the rest with equal parts dread and curiosity, running on fumes in terms of emotional energy but unable to put the files down. S2 being put through test after reactivation test. S2 being observed for changes in behavior. Brief snippets about G1, C3, and their biology are sprinkled throughout the files, but most of it fixates on S2, their main focus, their remaining pure test subject.

His Silvia.

When he gets to the end of this binder, he closes it slowly and drops it off the side of the bed. Silvia twitches in her sleep at the noise it makes. Gladion rubs her foreleg with his knuckles, his tired mind trying to race.

In a way, he’s glad he got this over with. Ever since he ran away with her, a small part of him wondered if Silvia was the one who accompanied his father into Ultra Space, and therefore is possibly to blame for his absence. He feels guilty for ever considering it, or considering that the knowledge might drive a wedge between himself and Silvia. It’s less complicated when that title belongs instead to the vicious, unseen G1.

Gladion rolls to face Silvia, his hand sliding to her ribs, and finds he cannot stop. He wiggles closer to her and buries his face in her chest, arm looped around her and embracing her tight. Silvia’s breath becomes uneven for a moment before resuming its natural pace. Lying between her forelegs and holding her like this is like hugging and being hugged, and it’s so comfortable Gladion can’t bear to move. Her heartbeat thuds against his cheek. He closes his eyes — the last daydreams that accompany him to sleep are of what would’ve happened had he stolen all three Nulls instead of just one.

——

It happens the next morning.

Gladion goes about his business like every new day, stumbling out of bed with a yawn and getting Silvia’s food ready. He dumps her suet and kibble in the blender and switches it on, exchanging a tired look with the equally-tired Silvia drooping on the bed. “Poor baby,” he simpers. “Got a busy day of-“

A plastic _snap_ suddenly cuts through the air, and the blender jerks to a stop. Gladion frowns at its mostly-solid contents and presses the blend button. Something whirrs inside the machine, but nothing moves. “Uh . . .” He spams the button as if that’ll fix it. “I think this thing finally bit it.”

Silvia watches with great interest. She slides off the bed and approaches Gladion, sniffing the busted blender. “It broke, I guess,” Gladion explains. He eyes the hole in the front of her helmet. “Guess it’s time for you to learn how to chew.”

He sits on the bed and gnashes his teeth like he’s chewing gum, squinting through the helmet’s gaps to glimpse her imitating him. “Good! You break the stuff into tiny pieces and when it’s like a paste, you swallow it. Want to give it a try?” She snorts, and Gladion picks up a single piece of kibble. The hole in her helmet’s front is diamond-shaped and just big enough to fit the morsel. He tips her helmet up and rolls the kibble down; the sound of Silvia’s mouth moving around is all he hears, then a tentative, clumsy crunch. “There you go!” Silvia’s head wiggles as she works it around and swallows loudly, and sniffs around for more. 

Piece by individual piece, Gladion feeds her whole food. All the while her chewing gets a little more natural, until he can roll down several pieces at once without fear of her not knowing what to do and choking on them. It’s mind-numbing and tedious, and by the time Silvia licks her chops and decides she’s sated almost an hour has passed.

Gladion stretches, stiff, and flops backward on the bed. Silvia rests her helmet on the bed by his head, watching him. Gladion smiles back at her. “Good girl.”

He rolls over and pulls his laptop forward, clicking on his PeliPackaging tab and typing in the name of that blender brand. Silvia might not need it anymore, but it made awfully good smoothies. He purchases the same model and slides off the bed to get the money together for when the deliveryperson comes before he forgets.

Rummaging through his backpack turns up nothing. Gladion checks every pocket again and turns up a couple of hundred bucks, but nothing else. “Silvia, did you take any money from this?” he asks, turning to Silvia. She approaches and sniffs the bills he holds out, then sits down. “Well, if it wasn’t you, who was it?”

If someone had broken in and taken it, there would be signs, chief among them Silvia’s distress. Gladion inspects Silvia’s stash of stolen items under the bed just in case, but finds nothing except a pen he’s been looking for for weeks. 

He checks his backpack pockets a third time, mind racing faster and faster as he tries to remember where he must have put all the money. He hasn’t moved any of it from its spot since running away. His fingers get clumsy as he fumbles with zippers. 

It can’t possibly be gone.

. . . Unless he spent it all.

Silvia, curious at Gladion’s sudden stillness, approaches his back and huffs. She bumps the back of his head with her helmet when this doesn’t inspire any action. He takes no notice.

Spent it all. Gladion fidgets with his backpack’s straps in slow motion, staring at the wall. What did he spend it all on? He got a discount eventually from the motel owners because of his long-term stay, but rent is still a black hole for funds. Other than that he’s spent it all buying Silvia random items, and grocery shopping, and on clothes and makeup, on little luxuries that burn in his mind like embers spitting out from a fire he didn’t mean to set. He didn’t mean to have . . .

Spent it all. Devoured funds he thought infinite. As if the pockets of his backpack were deep as a vault, and carried everything stacked and rolled-up to make room for the veritable bank he stole. How was he supposed to know? He’s never had to use money in all his life; every want and need was paid for and instant. He doesn’t know frugality, and all of a sudden money was in his hand and he . . .

Spent it all. This means no more rent, no more food, no more random toys, no more blenders. Blenders. Silvia jumps back as Gladion rockets to his feet and to his laptop, hands shaking as he clicks around PeliPackaging and cancels the order he just made. She rocks from side to side on her forelimbs, gurgling to herself and trying to make sense of him.

Gladion looks up at the noise. His empty mind can barely think of something to say. “Hiiii,” Silvia calls, quietly and with a great deal more hiss than usual. 

“Hey,” Gladion mutters. “Hey, hey, it’s fine! Everything’s fine.” Gladion goes to sit on the edge of the bed, leaning his elbows on his knees and rubbing his temples. trickles through his veins. Silvia sidles in front of him, her gray eyes staring him down from the darkness of her helmet. 

He runs through what he’s got left in his head. It’s just under what he needs for another month’s rent. He has constant tributaries funneling money out of his pockets, but nothing flowing back in. So they’ll be out of the motel by the end of the month.

Out. Out within thirty days. What to prioritize on? Food? Some kind of shelter? Would rent somewhere else be cheaper? Are there homeless shelters nearby? Homeless shelters — homelessness. He’s going to be _homeless._ He feels like he’s going to be sick.

He bends his head down and rubs his face with his palms, scratching his eyes. Homelessness, as a kid, means someone will want to know who he is and what he’s homeless for. When someone finds out he’s not a Trainer, they’ll try to find his parents. And if his mother gets her hands on him again . . . 

She’ll take Silvia. She’ll kill her.

Gladion keeps his palms crammed into his eyes to keep them dry. He can’t let anyone undo everything he’s worked for for over half a year now. He’s never going back. But if he gets found . . . 

A soft snort sounds just before him, and a careful claw settles on his knee. Gladion looks up in surprise and sees Silvia sitting directly in front of him. She groans, her chest rumbling. “Hey,” Gladion whispers; his hand drops to cover her talons. “It’s okay. Everything’s gonna be fine.”

She doesn’t seem convinced. “Everything will be fine,” he repeats. He’s not so sure himself.

——-

The rest of the day passes in a daze. 

He hates that it was so early in the day that he realized how poor he was. He hates that he can’t just go to sleep and leave it for the next morning. There is no respite.

Going outside with Silvia does nothing to unravel the knots snapped tight in his stomach. Eating does nothing. Tossing and turning in bed does nothing. 

And none of this would have happened were it not for Gladion's choices.

——

Aether Paradise is a paradox.

There is dissonance where a facility created to help Pokemon can make and unmake them.

There is dissonance where Gladion wants to go back, and cannot.

——-

Gladion lies awake that night. Silvia sleeps soundly, her front legs over his chest. The moonlight that streams through the bedside window is scant, aided in illuminating the room only by the digital clock beneath the flatscreen. Gladion watches its red digits change from 11:58 to 11:59, exhausted but too much so to fall asleep. His worries weigh heavily on his mind; every time he closes his eyes they threaten to overwhelm him. Watching the seconds tick by is enough mindless distraction to keep him from it.

It turns to 12:00.

It’s been over eight months since he left home. As the clock turns over to the new day, Gladion feels no different.

“Happy birthday to me.”

He drags his gaze away from the clock and stares up at the ceiling instead, arms crossed over his stomach. 

“Happy birthday to me.”

He singsongs in a whisper out of consideration for Silvia. She had a long day — several people asked to touch her and she let them, making friends in a neighborhood they have to leave soon.

“Happy birthday to Lillie an’ Gladion . . .”

Gladion swallows past the lump in his throat and opens his mouth to finish but nothing comes in or out, lungs stalled in a chest that tightens like a steel cage. His entire face is hot. He fidgets with the seam of his sleeves and clamps his jaw shut hard, lips pressed together, brow furrowed.

The tears come anyway. They flood his eyes and spill over the corners, tracing wet trails to his hair. Gladion covers his mouth with his wrist as his face crumples. He turns away from Silvia so he won’t wake her and muffles little sobs in his shirt, loud and damning in their quiet motel room. His guts bubble with anger at himself, and everyone else, for doing this. The crying doesn’t stop. Every time he thinks he’s done with it, and over it, and that he got it out and is just going to roll over and sleep like nothing happened, a fresh wave of tears drags him down again.

One of Silvia’s claws clenches and shifts across him. Gladion freezes and holds his breath, shoulders shaking, as her body relaxes once more. He lets out a shuddery breath, sniffling and wiping his eyes — and Silvia jerks upright, staring down at him in total wakefulness. 

Gladion’s heart sinks. He _knows_ his face is a mess, so he throws an arm across it. “H-Hey!” he says airily, as evenly as possible. “What’re you doing? You should go back to sleep.”

His consonants are too sharp, his throat too wet. He hears Silvia utter a high-pitched croon and sustain it, louder as her helmet hovers near his face. He can almost feel her gray eyes trying to peer around his arm. “S-Silvia, everything’s fine. Go to bed.”

She reaches up and grasps his arm near the elbow, tugging demandingly. He swallows and lets her pull it away from his face, looking away in shame. “I’m _fine,”_ he insists shakily. “I’m just being stupid.”

Her croon deepens and lowers, soothing instead of scared. Gladion keeps his face turned away and rubs his knuckles over her bristly shoulder, suddenly aware of how young and small he is compared to her. He only looks back when she slaps her claws down on his chest. “Um, ow.” He scrubs his eyes with the heels of his hands, digging in until it hurts. “I’m fine. I really am. I’m not crying because I’m hurting or anything.”

Silvia’s silence prompts him more. “I’m just . . . scared.” She rests her head between her forelegs at such an angle that her helmet’s dark eyeholes face him. “I’m scared because we d-don’t have money. And I don’t know where to go now. I don’t know what to do. And because . . . it’s my birthday. I never had one without my sister before.”

Gladion lets go of Silvia’s fur and crosses his arms over his stomach, fists tightened in his own sleeves. “I miss her so much,” he whispers. “I-I really hope she’s not missing me.” 

The longer he talks, the more his voice trembles. “I miss her _so_ much. And . . . I miss my mom. I miss her even though she’s horrible. A-And did such horrible things, to me and Lillie and to you . . . I don’t know why I _miss_ her so much. I wanna see her again so bad.”

Gladion murmurs faster, full of shame. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice a hoarse croak. “I don’t know why. I miss her, a-an’ I miss my dad, and I miss my sister, and I just wanna go home.”

His voice breaks on the last word, and he starts to sob again, covering his face with his hands. “I w-wanna go back but I don’t wanna go back to Aether. I-I wanna go _home._ But it hasn’t been home in so long. And I just . . .I miss my dad. I miss how my mom was wh-when he was around.”

He cries more, and cries loudly, everything sitting heavy on his young chest. He curls his fingers, nails digging into his forehead. “B-But you know what?” he demands, shaky but loud with nothing left to lose. “I-I’m lonely here, but if I went back I’d be punished. I can’t win and I deserve it. I am _just_ as bad as they are. All I do is think of myself.” 

Silvia lifts her head again with a snort, her talons gripping his arm. “It’s _true!”_ Gladion fires at her, hands flying off his face — old anger flares up at her ignorance to his real self. “I’m selfish!” A harsh noise rumbles out of Silvia’s chest, an angry mix between a bark and a caw. “Don’t look at me like that. You don’t know how bad I really am. You wanna know why I even _left_ in the first place?” He sits up so he can glare directly at her, eyes narrowed and swimming with tears. “You wanna know why I _stole_ you? I didn’t do it out of the goodness of my heart. I didn’t do it to save you, or ‘c-cause I thought what was happening to you was wrong. I did it ‘cause I knew it would make her angry. Because at the time, it felt good to make her mad.” He stares down at his fists. “B-Because she called me to her room and was talking to me and only me like she always does and she . . . she . . .”

Fatigue weighs down his whole body, all at once. He flops back on his pillows, crying anew; salt coats the inside of his mouth, his clogged throat, his wet face. “She c-called Lillie ugly. She called Lillie ugly like it w-was our little joke but I know what that means. I know it means she wants to throw her away like a doll she g-got bored with. And I know she’s called me ugly to Lillie too. That’s all she does. She just turns us against each other because she thinks it’s funny.” 

Silvia is a gray statue beside him, her helmet a burnished effigy. “I couldn’t take it anymore. She clings to my dad like he’s coming back a-and has horrible ideas about getting him back, and it was only a matter of time before she forgot about us too. I-It sounds so petty but it isn’t. It hurts. She’s my _mother._ So I left, and I did the one thing I knew would make her so mad before leaving. And I used you for my own purposes just like they did. Just like my mom and dad did — just because I was _mad!”_

His angry explosion dissolves into more crying. Nothing he says can justify leaving Lillie. Nothing he says can erase the fact that maybe, if he’d tried just a little bit harder, if he hadn’t given up so quickly, he could’ve stopped it all. If he was kinder to his mother . . . more understanding . . . couldn’t she have come around? If he was a better son, couldn’t he have helped her normal again?

He breathes hard, his truth a splinter ripped clumsily out. Then Silvia, silent, shifts her weight away, and Gladion’s insides run cold. “I’m sorry,” he sobs before he can think; nausea rises so fast in his stomach it makes him dizzy. He feels pathetic; all the hidden rage, all the anger that felt so justified in that lab all those months ago, is unimaginable compared to the despair he drowns in now, now that Silvia knows how horrible he is. “I’m so sorry, I’m _sorry._ I-I don’t blame you if you hate me now.” 

She leans up on her front legs — probably to jump off the bed and get away from him. “B-But it’s not like that anymore,” Gladion bursts out desperately. “I care about you now- I love you! I p-promise, I _love_ you . . .”

Silvia lifts her forelimb and plants it on his other side, then sinks back down. She places her helmet very carefully on the other side of Gladion’s head, so the spikes are a safe distance away from him. There she settles with a little sigh, her chest and neck stretched across his body, her claws curled inward until they touch him.

Hugging him.

Gladion sobs, and slings his arms around her neck and hugs her as tight as he can, burying his face in her feathers. “Why?” he croaks. “I-I know you can understand everything I say. Now you know how bad I am. Why aren’t you mad at me?”

Silvia’s chest rumbles as she croons back at him, like a kitten’s purr. “I’d be mad at me,” Gladion says throatily, his voice more phlegm than syllable. “I’m still mad at me. I’m _furious._ You . . . You don’t deserve any of the bad things that happened to you. None of it.”

Gladion runs his hands through Silvia’s feathers and fur, stroking up and down her spine. Her strong heartbeat drums against his stomach. “I love you so much,” he whispers. “I love you more than anything.”

Neither of them make any attempt to move for a while. Gladion swallows down the salt in his mouth and closes his eyes, Silvia’s heavy body a calming — though a little crushing — weight against him. Empty of tears and secrets, his head is fuzzy and light at the same time, all his worries old and new feeling faint and faraway. A tomorrow problem. 

He wishes Lillie were here. “Hey . . . Silvia,” he murmurs, breaking their silence. “Do you . . . Do you remember the other two Nulls?” He scratches the gray feathers under his hand. “Do you ever think about them?”

Silvia answers with neither movement nor sound. “Do you miss them? Were they like . . . your sisters?”

Silvia grunts and lifts her head. “Hey, I’m sorry,” Gladion says as she rolls back onto her side next to him, settling her helmet in her regular spot. “I shouldn’t have pried. I just never saw them. I don’t even know where they were kept.” She lifts her front leg, and he wiggles under it and gets comfortable. “But I’m sorry. Are you tired?” She huffs, the sound wheezing between the gaps of her helmet. “Me too. . . . Thank you. For everything.”

He runs his hand up and down her side. “Everything’s going to be okay,” he says slowly. “We’ll be all right. I . . . I’ll figure something out. Because no matter what, we’ve got each other, right? I’ve got you, and you’ve got me. We’re partners. We don’t need to rely on anyone else.” He doesn’t mean it as he says it, but as soon as it leaves his mouth it becomes real, becomes tangible. “We’re gonna figure something out.”

Gladion looks up at her, then wriggles up until his head is level with hers. Her helmet faces the moonlight, so her eyes shine as eerie green discs from its depths. “We’re gonna be okay,” he repeats, forcing his voice to be strong. He grips the bottom of her helmet. “And . . . And somehow, I’m going to find a way to take this off you. I don’t know how, but I’m going to do it. And I’m going to do it for _you,_ and no one else. Because you deserve everything good in the world. You deserve to be free.”

The green light disappears, then reappears as Silvia slowly blinks at him. “I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was originally going to update this when I got done with chapter three, but today was my last day of classes, so I figured I'd celebrate with an update. Pokemon, woo!
> 
> Please let me know what you think! I live for comments, and I'd love to hear your feedback!


	3. the secret cage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If anyone calls him “Team Skull baby” at any point in his life, Gladion will go from Pokemon smuggler to murderer within a second.

Gladion’s calves ache by the time they see Heahea City (he finally learned the name) in the far distance. Though Route 6 is a straight line, the ground is rocky, and Silvia stops to trot after and sniff anything that catches her fancy, from berry bushes to a rock Gladion kicked. He doesn’t begrudge her any of her excitement, this being her longest and most social excursion yet, but stopping to inspect every single thing that changes around them — which turns out to be almost everything — gets exhausting after the first hundred times. He had to drag her away by the helmet from the ranch they passed, so exciting and full of interesting scents was it to her.

“Silvia,” he puffs as she wanders away from him again, “honey. That’s grass. It’s the same grass you smelled a million times before. It’s just grass.”

Silvia studies it for several minutes anyway, circling the little patch of green like a new angle will provide new scents. Afterward she waddles up to Gladion and paws at his shoe. “What is it? Water? Food? Bathroom . . . ? Uh, actually, when you’re outside you can go to the bathroom wherever you want, to be honest. As long as- nono _not_ in the road!” he yowls as she starts to squat. “Go behind a tree or something. It’s a privacy thing.”

He points her to the tree line so she can do her business and steps on leaves as he waits. He stares at them like they’ll give him answers. His mind buzzes with ideas half-formed, and his heart stutters anxiously in his chest.

He fully intends to make good on his promise to Silvia — Gladion does not make halfhearted promises — but with daylight comes clarity; he has no plan. Maybe some local metalworker would be moved into removing Silvia’s helmet for free, but that won’t stop her reactivated RKS from messing with her brain and driving her berserk. Gladion flips her helmet around in his head, roiling with anger at its terrible design as he tries to figure something out. If the only parts that really matter are the screws in her cheeks, then maybe the rest of the helmet can be sliced off. Would a laser hurt her? Would the helmet heat up under a laser and burn her face from the inside out? And _why_ did Faba bother making the rest, when the screws are the only parts necessary to tame the beasts?

Gladion unzips his hoodie under the heat. Somehow he remembered to put sunscreen on Silvia, but not himself; every second he spends under the sun he can just feel himself burning. “Get ready to see Kecleon Gladion,” he mutters as Silvia comes up behind him and bumps him with her shoulder. “I’m turning red on the spot. C’mon, we’re almost to town.”

Silvia waddles at his side as they start walking again. “You’re going to do great,” Gladion assures, eyeing the faint figures of people and Pokemon strolling around the road ahead. “All you have to do is stick with me. And if you feel like it’s too much, we can go somewhere quiet or you can go in your ball.”

Silvia snorts, agreeing, and swings her helmet around to look at something behind them. Gladion glances back and spots two kids, dressed all in black and leaning close to whisper to each other, walking a short distance behind them. They must be looking at Silvia. “C’mon, girl. Let’s ignore them.” He slows her down, so the two kids will have the pass them.

Less than a minute later, Gladion’s ears prick as he hears footsteps crunching just behind them, too close to be just passing; his left hand flies to his hair, an instant and self-conscious gesture to hide his face. Silvia stops and turns to stiffly face one of the kids, a short figure in black and white punk clothes. Blond-and-pink hair pokes out from under their hat, and a stylized skull swings on a silver chain from their neck. The other kid hangs back, watching them. “Hi, uh,” a quiet male voice says, “can I have your Pokemon?”

Gladion looks to the side at Silvia like she’s going to answer — she looks back at him with the exact same bewildered look in her eyes — then back at the boy, shocked into silence. “Um. No?” he replies eventually. 

The boy backpedals to his companion. “It didn’t work!” Gladion hears the boy hiss. He tugs on Silvia’s helmet spoke toward town, not wanting to deal with this.

“Hey, wait!” the other girl says, jogging up to them. “Sorry, my little bro’s got anxiety and all. Can we have your Pokemon?”

“I said no,” Gladion snaps, confused into irritation, and tugs Silvia faster. She drags her feet, sniffing great inhales to try and smell the kids without looking at them. 

“Aww, why not?”

“What do you mean, why not? She’s my Pokemon!” 

To Gladion’s horror, the girl and boy fall into step beside them, as if he invited them to do so. “What is she, huh? She’s funny lookin’. And what’s that thing on her head?”

“She’s an Absol, head condition, please stop following me.”

“Hey, sorry about asking to take your Absol,” the boy supplies. He doesn’t seem to fill out into his punk outfit. “I just- I just wanted to give it a shot, you know.”

“Wh- Roth, don’t apologize for doin’ grunt work! Stealing is our thing!” the girl protests. “We’re supposed to look tough!”

 _Yeah, and you’re shit at it,_ Gladion wants to say. Silvia digs her halluces into the ground and leans her head back, dragging Gladion into a stop, then pads around so she can shove her helmet in the girl’s side, sniffing heartily. “Whoa!” the girl trills. “What’s her name?”

Gladion tugs on Silvia’s helmet spike in vain. “Silvia.”

 _“Silviaaaa,”_ the two singsong together. “That’s pretty, yo!” the girl says.

“Cool, thanks. Leave us alone.” Gladion successfully drags Silvia away and marches toward town. It’s still so far away.

 _“Jeeeeez,”_ the two idiots chorus in unison. “You’re a feisty little kid. How old are you, nine?”

“Ten- eleven.”

“Whoa, _‘scuse_ me, big guy.” The girl jogs up and in front of them, walking backwards so she can glower down at Gladion. “You should know better than to be disrespectin’ Team Skull, yo.”

“Team Skull,” Gladion repeats, voice tinged with laughter despite himself. Has he seen that name floating around Chatoter? “Team _Skull.”_

“Yeah, Team Skull!” She throws her hands in front of her in some kind of gang gesture. “And if you ain’t careful, my bro and I will beat you down for crossin’ our path!”

Gladion’s step falters. “Are you threatening to . . . beat me up?”

“What? N-No! In a Pokemon battle, stupid!”

“What? I’m not even a Trainer, and Silvia doesn’t battle. We’re leaving now.”

“Oh, wow, you don’t know how to battle?” the girl says, in sudden forgiving excitement. “You wanna learn how?”

“No?”

“Here, I’ll show you!” Suddenly a Pokeball is out, and then opened; a little black creature materializes in the girl’s arms. The Salandit clings to its Trainer’s shirt, odd smile-shaped mouth chittering, and peers around at Gladion with crafty purple eyes. “This is Selena. Isn’t she great? She’s gonna be a Salazzle one day, like my big sister’s.”

“Please don’t get her started on the Salandits,” the boy — Roth — mutters from aside.

“Rotheca Serrata, don’t you dare get me started on _you,”_ the girl rebukes, with the same tone Gladion’s mother used to say “Gladion Lucille” when he talked back, “and your dumb plants. Anyway, battling’s lit, yo! All you do is let your guys go at it! Not that either of our Pokemon are guys, you know, I’m not misgenderin’ or nothin’, I’m using it like gender neutral. I bet your Absol could do _serious_ damage with that head thingy.”

“Wh- No, we’re not battling. Silvia doesn’t battle. She doesn’t even want to battle. Right, Silvia?” Gladion looks at her for help. She’s wiggling, and glances back at him with bright eyes that clearly say, _I want to battle!_ “Ugh! No!”

“Do it! Give it a try!” the Team Skull grunts chant. 

“Would you go away? Or I’ll go to the police!” Gladion threatens, gripping Silvia’s helmet. She rumbles deep in her chest, finally realizing that these two are making him angry. “Silvia, let’s go.”

“The _police?_ Boy, the police are runnin’ _scared_ of us! No one messes with Team Skull,” the girl replies smugly.

“Except Nanu.”

“Yeah, ‘cept him, but he doesn’t count. I mean, at this point, he’s probably an honorary member or some shit. Eh, shoot. Sorry, kid.”

“What is Team Skull, anyway?” Gladion challenges. “Is it some stupid club with only you two in it?”

“Dang, why so salty?” the girl asks. “Nah, Team Skull’s the meanest gang in Alola! We go around doing whatever we want, an’ no one can do anythin’ about it, yo! But our main gig is stealing Pokemon. Our boss is Guzma, the strongest Trainer in the world!”

If Gladion hears the word “yo” one more time, he thinks he’s going to flip out. “And the police are letting you get away with this?” he demands in disbelief. 

“I already said it, you numbskull! No one messes with us. We’ve got over two hundred members. We’re an army!”

“That’s not very impressive. The population of Akala is almost a hundred thousand.”

“Don’t sass me, mister math major.” The girl’s Salandit crawls up to her shoulders and slings its sinuous body around her neck like a scarf. “I could still take your Absol no problem. I bet I’d get a _nice_ price for her.”

“Price? _Price?”_ Taking Silvia, and selling her? “Oh, over my dead body. You-“ He stops short, something falling into place. “Did you just say you’d get a price for her? You steal and sell Pokemon?”

“Yup!” the girl crows. 

“To who?”

Her smile falls. “Uh . . . not too sure. Big Sis and Guzma handle all that stuff, to be honest, yo. All I know is we get paid for bringin’ in Pokemon.”

 _Get paid._ “How much?”

Her eyes — the only visible part of her face — turn smug. “Enough to get these ourselves,” she says, swinging around her silver necklace. Its weight is clear, a sure tell of its quality. “Boss has one that’s solid gold. Enough that we don’t have to worry about nothin’. It’s a good-payin’ gig, if you ask me.”

Money. “So . . . what do you do to get in Team Skull?”

“What, you wanna join all of a sudden? I thought we were stupid or somethin’?”

Roth, meanwhile, perks up. “Sure you can join! All you gotta do is come to Ula’ula. Our base is in Po Town, you can join there!”

“Roth! Don’t give away our secrets!”

“I mean . . . it ain’t secret. We stole a whole town,” Roth points out. He turns to Gladion again, pulling down his mask to reveal an eager young face. “I’m actually the youngest member,” he explains. “My sisters and I, we were having a bad time at home, so Big Sis took us and left to join Team Skull. I don’t know anything about your home life, but it’s so much better at the base. It’s safe, really.”

“You’re makin’ us sound like a Pokemon shelter,” his sister protests.

“Guzma’s not so bad either. He’s freaky-lookin’, but actually really nice! But if you need someplace to go, you should go to Team Skull. It’s not as scary as it sounds, one young kid to another.”

Gladion feels sudden pressure in his front hoodie pocket, and he flinches back to see the girl with his phone in her hands, typing away. “Here, this is my number,” she says, lifting her hand easily over Gladion’s head when he jumps to get his phone back. “Text me if you wanna know more.”

“Don’t steal his phone, sis,” Roth says. She rolls her eyes and drops it, and Gladion snatches it out of the air and holds it to his chest like a baby bird. “I’m Roth, and this is Hibisca. Call her Hibbie, though, or she gets mad.”

Hibbie sticks her tongue out at Roth. “You’re too nice to be in a gang, dude. We gotta bail. Catch you later, kid! Seeya, Silvia!”

Silvia bounces on her front legs. _“HIIII!”_ she suddenly screeches, earsplitting and tinny and making the three of them jump.

Roth and Hibbie freeze. “Uh . . .”

“Heh-heh! Hii-iiiii!” Silvia bubbles.

“Did she just . . . say hi?” Roth asks slowly.

“Uh . . . Absols are kind of birdlike?” Gladion supplies weakly. “She mimics voices sometimes.”

“Yo! That is SO COOL!” Hibbie erupts. “DEFINITELY come join! Guzma would get a kick out of that!”

“Doesn’t he hate birds?” Roth asks quietly.

“He’s gotta think talking birds are cool! C’mon, Roth, we gotta tell him about it!”

“Wait, uh-“ Gladion has no time to ask them to stay quiet about him and Silvia; the two take off up Route 6, laughing and calling to each other. “All right.”

The most human interaction Gladion’s had in almost a year is a pair of teenagers in a thieving gang. “That was the worst thing ever.” He glances at Silvia; she’s so hyped up that she exerts energy by waddling in circles, muttering a constant stream of gurgles and trills. “Are you okay, honey?”

“Hiii!” she squalls back in her cartoonish voice, swinging her helmet up and down. “Hiiiyyyee! Hiiiyyuuu . . . Hee-yo! Yo! Yo! Yo!”

“Oh my god,” Gladion breathes.

“Hi! Yo! Hi! Yo!” Silvia chants. “Yo, yo, yo!”

“Silvia, please don’t. Silvia, oh my god.”

Silvia merrily chants her new favorite word the whole way to town, driving Gladion up the wall, but quiets as they approach the throng of people milling around buildings. “Stick with me, hon,” Gladion assures her. “And, uh, please don’t talk.”

They round the right turn toward town, Gladion on the outside and Silvia by the bushes, bumping her shoulder into him from proximity. Her breath gets a little louder as chatter surrounds them, a constant backdrop of voices and Pokemon cries. “You’re doing great, sweetheart,” Gladion coos, eyes on the people walking beside and by them. They attract long stares and curious whispers instantly, between Silvia’s massive size and appearance and her gleaming helmet. “I’m right here.”

Gladion rubs between Silvia’s shoulder blades as they get into Heahea proper, Silvia’s dark reflection wavering along the windows beside them when they pass buildings. They stop for a water break along the parking lot of some kind of research lab, which gives Gladion the willies. Silvia smacks her jaw loudly and sits for a bit on the sidewalk, watching Lapras and jet-skis zoom through the bay across the street. “Silvia, have I ever told you you’re just the best girl in the whole world?” Gladion asks her; she lifts her claw and bumps his hip with her wrist. “Because it’s true, you know. There’s no one better than you.”

Gladion scratches the back of Silvia’s neck and leans against her, pointedly staring down anyone who looks at her funny. He glares at a particularly nosy pair of teenage boys as they walk further up the street, locking eyes with them every time they glance over their shoulders, and does a double take at a flash of white in front of them.

Gladion’s heart stops as he realizes two Aether employees are walking down the street from further in town, the gold buttons on their platinum uniforms flashing, contrasting with the multicolored crowd. They halfway face each other, chatting as they walk; they don’t appear to have noticed him yet.

Panic locks him in place for the longest time, options warring for attention in his mind, so many that none can grab purchase. He fumbles for his pockets, nearly shoving Silvia’s Pokeball out the other end; she stares at him in confusion, and Gladion has only the briefest glimpse of her pupils dilating in shock as he shoves the ball at her, vanishing her instantly. He shoves her back in his pocket and flips his hoodie up as fast as he can, tightening it around his face and trying to remember how to breathe.

He doesn’t dare look over at the Aether employees, instead scurrying into town as close to the bushes as possible. He falls in step with a group of adults and glances left from the corner of his eye. The Aether duo haven’t even looked up; they continue walking, pointing down at the bay and gesturing to each other.

Gladion’s heart doesn’t stop racing until he’s well off the pavement, through the library doors and between shelves to a couch in a secluded corner. He collapses onto it just as his jellied knees give out, swallowing down the nausea yawning in his throat.

Once he has himself under control, he releases Silvia. She manifests sitting as she was outside and blinks at her new surroundings, feathers lifting near her skin in surprise. “I’m sorry,” Gladion whispers in a breathless rush. “I’m _really_ sorry, but I had to hide you quick. There were Aether Foundation people walking toward us, and I didn’t want them to see you.”

Silvia ambles closer and places her talons on Gladion’s knee, quick to forgive. He holds her helmet and rests his forehead on it, closing his eyes; she starts to warble, chittering little rasps to fill the ringing silence. It soothes him. 

“You know,” he murmurs, moving his hands down to massage her neck, “realistically speaking, they probably don’t know what you are. I think only the deep lab scientists knew anything about Ultra Space or Cosmog or you. They’re just Pokemon rescuers, as far as they’re concerned. So even if they did see you, they wouldn’t freak out or anything.” He nods. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s fine. And if they saw _me,_ they might not even know it’s me. I look way different. I used to wear all white, can you believe that? They must have a base nearby I never noticed . . . I have to be more careful.”

Gladion thinks for a few minutes more. Silvia hauls herself up on the couch and sits facing him, elbow rested casually on the back. “Oh, hi there,” Gladion snorts. “This your couch now? Come here often?”

“Yo-oo!” Silvia replies.

“Don’t talk to me.”

Gladion pulls his laptop out of his bag and connects to the library’s free Wifi, watching the signal wax and wane as he thinks. Cabin fever drove him out, and maybe the prospect of seeing a “Help Wanted” sign somewhere on a window of a store that involves as much money and as little human interaction as possible. His recent encounter with Team Skull makes him wonder if that’s his best choice. Child labor laws prevent him from getting a full-time job anyway. In Team Skull, he doubts anyone would care how old he is. 

It alarms him, how quickly he considers crime his main option. He technically is a Pokemon thief already. Now he’d just be organized. Now he’d be paid for it.

And, he reasons with an uneasy glance at Silvia, some Pokemon are better off stolen.

Puffing out a breath, Gladion takes out his phone and looks through his contacts. Sure enough, an uncapitalized “hibbster” is now his only H name. He clicks it and fixes her name before opening a text message.

 **To: Hibisca (Team Skull)**  
-It’s Gladion.

The second Gladion presses “send” he clutches the phone and screams at himself internally for using his real name. 

**To: Hibisca (Team Skull)**  
-I have some questions about Team Skull.

As he waits for an answer he lets Silvia crawl across his lap; she takes up the whole length of the couch, resting her helmet on the arm and digging her pointy elbows into Gladion’s thighs. He winces, balancing his laptop on her shoulders and Googling “how to become a pokemon trainer.”

Fifteen minutes into a video his phone vibrates. He scrambles to unlock it.

 **From: Hibisca (Team Skull)**  
-sorry lmao i was on a boat but like  
-who the fuck is gladion  
-OH SHIT WAIT the dude with the absol right?? sylvia?????

 **To: Hibisca (Team Skull)**  
-Yes.  
-And it’s Silvia.

 **From: Hibisca (Team Skull)**  
-YOOOO LMAO YOU TEXT BACK FAST  
-yo tell silvia we said hi and shes awesome and cute!!!

Gladion says, “Silvia, you’re awesome and cute,” and doesn’t say it was from them out of principle.

 **To: Hibisca (Team Skull)**  
-The Pokemon you steal. Do you hurt them or mistreat them? And can you find out where they go?

 **From: Hibisca (Team Skull)**  
-lmao idk about where they go tbh but i can tell you for certain we dont mistreat them  
-holy shit could you imagine i would quit so fast  
-i mean obvs they dont like being stolen but we’re super nice to them the whole time  
-guzma LOVES pokemon he would never let us hurt one  
-one time some grunt tried to make his zubat eat vegan food i thought guzma was gonna kill him omg  
-and i doubt he’d sell pokes to bad people

 **To: Hibisca (Team Skull)**  
-But can you find out?

 **From: Hibisca (Team Skull)**  
-ok damn  
-aight i texted plums she’ll get back to me  
-oh wow holy shit she just got back to me  
-“none of your business” this bitch i stg  
-hang on  
-ok she says whoever’s asking needs to chill tf out, and that we sell the pokemon to people in alola and other regions in the black market  
-oh lord shes sending me a gd dissertation  
-she n guzma vet every buyer to make sure theyre not crazy scientists who wanna use em for pokemon testing or experiments or shit like that  
-mostly people who want pokemon from other regions when they’re usually not allowed  
-like you know how it’s illegal to ship nidorans to alola? like that  
-so that’s a plus? cmon dude join you know you want to

 **To: Hibisca (Team Skull)**  
-What do I need to do to join?

 **From: Hibisca (Team Skull)**  
-literally just show up to po town and we’ll let you in  
-you get a room and stuff but you gotta buy your own clothes  
-you were wearing black right?? you already good  
-a. no drugs b. no unprotected sex c. no pokemon fighting d. no birds near guzma’s room  
-uhhhh what else  
-omg this is gonna make you the newest youngest member bc roth’s 15  
-new team skull baby!!!

If anyone calls him “Team Skull baby” at any point in his life, Gladion will go from Pokemon smuggler to murderer within a second. Silvia snorts and lifts her head as Gladion’s phone keeps buzzing with Hibisca’s plentiful replies. “I know, right.”

 **To: Hibisca (Team Skull)**  
-Is there a minimum number of Pokemon you need on your team to join?  
-I’ve never caught a Pokemon and I’m not sure how.

 **From: Hibisca (Team Skull)**  
-nah dude just silvia would be fine!!  
-i mean the more the merrier bc then you can be more intimidating and shit so people will hand over their pokemon more  
-if you want we always have salandits runnin around base you can adopt they’re great  
-or you can go out and catch your own

 **To: Hibisca (Team Skull)**  
-How do I catch one?

 **From: Hibisca (Team Skull)**  
-u fuckin sheltered boi lmao  
-go in the damn woods and shake a tree odds are a pokemon will fall out  
-if they know youre a trainer looking for a battle theyll come running  
-if you get a zubat u’ll score points with my sister she’s a ho for zubats  
-and she’s admin so you wanna get points with her  
-go out at night, theres tons flyin around everywhere

 **To: Hibisca (Team Skull)**  
-All right.

A pause. Then:

 **To: Hibisca (Team Skull)**  
-Thank you.

 **From: Hibisca (Team Skull)**  
-lmAOOOO i could like physically feel how reluctant you were to type that oh lord  
-lemme kno how it goes little man  
-roth says hi to u and silvia

 **To: Hibisca (Team Skull)**  
-Silvia says hi back.

 **From: Hibisca (Team Skull)**  
-LMAOOOO YOOO SHE ACTUALLY CAN THO  
-shes cool as hell i want an absol now  
-ok i just googled absols and they dont look anything like silvia wtf  
-is she a subspecies?

Gladion decides this is an excellent time to end the conversation. He locks his phone and sets it aside, tapping his fingers idly on his laptop. He certainly wouldn’t call those two friends, but he supposes they’re not enemies either. And he’s nowhere near as secure as he wants to be, but having a plan, no matter how precarious, takes weight from his shoulders.

“So, Silvia,” he says. “Are you up for a battle?”

——-

Nightfall finds them in the clearing they first played in. Gladion can see tire tracks in the mud and hopes no one’s planning on moving in; he has no ownership of some random clearing in the forest, but something in him wants it to remain untouched, sacred. Silvia ambles around and with snorts breaks into occasional bursts of activity before resting again, both energized and restrained by the task at hand.

Gladion checks the time on his phone: 7:04 p.m. They’ve been at this for forty-one minutes now, wandering around as the sky darkens and peering around the dark forest for potential adversaries. Gladion twitches and looks up as a couple of birds flit by overhead, but they don’t pay any attention to him. None of the Pokemon tonight have.

Embarrassed and nervous, Gladion googles yet again how long it takes on average for a person to catch a Pokemon, and yet again none of the answers he gets are satisfactory; none of them seem to apply to the situation where some random kid goes into the woods for less than an hour and stands there in silence. Did he expect wild Pokemon to throw themselves at him?

“We might be doing something wrong here,” Gladion admits aloud. Silvia waddles up to him, her talons and paws speckled with dirt. “Not so much with you. I don’t think there are any Pokemon that want to be caught in this place.”

He raises his voice. “It’s getting dark. I hope no _wild Pokemon_ find me, a Trainer, and my, uh, training Pokemon!” Silence and stillness. “Well, that didn’t work.”

Birds have stopped flying as bug songs fill the nighttime air; the sky instead swells with the rapid flaps of short, leathery wings. Gladion peers up at the many Zubat flitting back and forth across the canopy overhead, their short chirps overlapping into one raspy song. “Hello!” he calls up to them. “This isn’t a-a threat or anything, but does anyone want to battle?”

They twitch not a wing nor ear in his direction, and their calls don’t waver in pitch or frequency. Gladion casts a nervous look over his shoulder to make sure they’re alone and looks back up. “I, um, I want to make a Pokemon team,” he says. “If anyone wants to be part of it, that would be, well, great.” He chews on his lip. “Do any of you know Idem? Anyone . . . anyone?”

No answer. Silvia starts whistling the theme song to Gladion’s favorite cooking show. Gladion’s stomach rumbles, and he sighs. “Let’s try this again tomorrow.”

As he turns to leave Silvia’s whistling turns shrill and tuneless; she jerks forward suddenly, snorting and puffing, and spins with her legs spread. “Silvia?”

Again she jumps to the side, swinging her helmet in confusion. There against the low shine of her sunset-lit helmet does he see it; a dark shape fluttering all around her, flickering and spastic. Gladion’s heart leaps to his throat. He scrambles for his phone and turns on the flashlight app, illuminating her. “Silvia, come here.”

Silvia lumbers to him hurriedly, helmet in terrifying, shiny focus, and the little black shape harries her all the way. Gladion’s phone lights up flashes of indigo fur and translucent membrane; a tiny Zubat, its mouth open to utter a constant stream of _pip! pip! pip!_ and its wings beating in a blur as it flits under and around Silvia’s legs.

“O-Oh, hi!” Gladion blurts out. “Are you battling us? Do you want to join our team? Silvia, attack.”

He can’t see anything other than green discs out of Silvia's helmet’s eyeholes, but he can tell the look she’s throwing at him is scandalized. “I’ll try to keep the flashlight on it, and you . . . go for it.”

She twitches as the Zubat brushes against her again, lumbering in a circle and swinging her helmet slowly from side to side. “You can do this,” Gladion says, voice shaking but convicted. “You’ve just got to hit it enough to stun it, and I’ll catch it with this.” From his pocket he grips the single Pokeball he bought from the Pokecenter. He rubs his thumb anxiously along the lid. “Try hitting it with your claws.”

Silvia tosses her head around and jumps to the side as the Zubat smacks into her flank. “You’re too slow,” Gladion mutters, eyeing her stiff, weighed-down movements against the Zubat’s erratic flutter. It never seems to stay in the same place for more than half a second. “Get it in sight. Hit it!”

Silvia unleashes a hoarse screech, trying to spin towards the creature, but it follows her shift and snatches at her feathers with tiny feet. She backs up, pawing pointlessly at the air with a claw. “This isn’t working. It’s too fast!”

Gladion peers at the little shape and scoffs at the irony of a “beast killer” thwarted by one of the weakest Pokemon species alive. The Zubat shoots into the sky, circles around, then dive-bombs Silvia to harass her more. His flashlight catches sharp, white fangs sticking out of its little mouth, alongside a constant stream of monotone squeaks. “Silvia, wait. Forget what I said — don’t look for it, listen! Can you hear the noise it’s making?”

He worries for Silvia’s faulty hearing, but she replies with a wolf-whistle. “Is that a yes? Try tracking it like that.”

Silvia backs up, helmet low to the ground; the Zubat ascends against the gray sky, uttering, _pip! pip!_ without end, before swooping down toward Silvia from the side.

Suddenly Silvia rears up tall on her hind legs, executing a clumsy turn, and lashes out with a front leg. The Zubat’s _pip!_ turns shrill halfway through as her chitinous palm smacks it out of the air; it bounces off a patch of grass and into the mud.

Gladion leaps into the air and shouts wordlessly, unleashing his pent-up tension like a spring released. “YES! You got it!”

Silvia charges for the downed Zubat, but it gets back in the air before she can pounce upon it. It swings gracelessly around, peeping occasionally, wings beating out of sync. It lurches toward Gladion, flying sideways. “I’ve got it!” he yells, brandishing the Pokeball. If it would just stay low enough for him to reach-

Silvia chases her prey, helmet raised to keep the Zubat within her sights. “Wait, Silvia, I’ve got it!” Gladion calls. “I-“

Just when he reaches the Zubat and, hand clasped around the ball as he clumsily knocks the front of it into the little creature — it squeaks and bends around the ball, wing brushing Gladion’s finger, before red energy blinds him — Silvia notices where she’s headed and puts on the brakes. Mud slides up her legs as she skids through it, plowing chest-first into Gladion and knocking the both of them down.

Gladion hits the ground first and braces himself to become a black pancake, but luckily Silvia falls just beside him, her heavy body shaking the clearing with impact. She groans, unsticking her helmet from the mud. “Are you okay, honey?” Gladion frets, getting to his knees and wiping grass off her mask. 

Then he remembers the Pokeball. He stupidly stares at his empty palm, then whips his head around looking for it. “Oh no,” he mutters, having potentially lost his catch. He managed to keep his grip on his phone, but not the ball; he waves the flashlight around, scanning the grass.

Silvia staggers to her feet, backs up, and sniffs at the ground. The Pokeball that was crammed beneath her is covered in mud; as Gladion trains his flashlight upon it with bated breath, it convulses like a tempest is trying to escape. “Come on,” Gladion whispers, wondering if physically holding the Pokeball shut would do anything. Silvia leans forward, intensely focused. “Catch.”

The ball shakes one more time, a muted wiggle, then goes still. The latch presses inward with a click. “Yes!” Gladion exclaims, breathless. “Silvia, we did it! We caught a Pokemon!”

Silvia tosses her head back and makes an odd cackle, like “Weh-heh-heh!” She paws at the mud and Gladion snatches the Pokeball before she can grab it. “Let’s get inside.”

Gladion grips the Pokeball tight the whole walk back, cold mud plastering his clothes to his body. He knows it’s just his imagination, but the ball feels heavier in his hand with its new passenger.

After a shared shower and dinner, which combined consumes over two hours, Gladion blinks his heavy eyelids and sits on the end of his bed, turning the Zubat’s Pokeball over in his hand. Silvia, sparkling clean, sits beside him and stares down at it. “Ready?” he asks her; she kneads her talons into the rug and snorts. Gladion wraps his arm around her shoulders and kisses her bristly fur. “You did amazing!” She croons, bobbing her helmet slowly. “And remember, don’t attack it anymore.”

Gladion turns the ball outward and opens it. When the red lightning strike subsides, the Zubat falls a foot or two in the air before flapping to catch itself, hovering and squeaking.

Gladion stands up. “Hello,” he greets. “Over here. My name’s Gladion. Can you understand me?”

The Zubat flutters closer, bobbing from side to side. Gladion outstretches his hand, not really knowing what for, and the Zubat swoops close; it flips upside down and grips his pinkie finger with its feet, folding its wings and finally growing still, suspended under his hand. “Hi!” Gladion says in surprise, keeping his hand deathly stationary; the Zubat weighs practically nothing, and swings with every movement his hand makes. 

It rubs its ears with its thumbs, then bends its blunt body to pull itself up into his palm. There it perches, crouched, and tilts its head in Gladion’s direction. Nothing makes up its scrunched face except triangular ears and an upturned puppy mouth, the pearly tips of its canines poking just out of its lips. Its indigo fur is thick and long, its broad wings paper-thin and laced with purple veins. Its short black claws don’t hurt a bit where they dig into him. 

Used to Silvia’s bulk as he is, Gladion finds the Zubat impossibly tiny and cute. “Hello there,” he croons. “Do you know Idem?”

The Zubat erupts into a flurry of peeps. “You do?” Gladion says incredulously; it leans up and chatters more, bizarrely large teeth flashing from its triangular mouth. “That’s great! I thought I’d have to teach you. Can I ask you some questions? Here, let’s . . . how about I’ll ask you questions, and for yes you, uhh, squeak twice, and for no you squeak once? Do you understand that?” 

The Zubat peeps twice. “Great! Are you a girl?” _Pip!_ “A boy?” _Pip pip!_ “Okay! Do you have a name?” _Pip!_ “Do you want a name?” _Pip pip!_ “Do you want me to name you?” _Pip pip pip pip pip!_

“Okay," Gladion chuckles. The way the bat's ears twitch every time he peeps is the cutest thing he's ever seen. “I’ll come up with a name for you. Give me some time. My name is Gladion, and this is Silvia.” He gestures toward Silvia with his other hand; she’s leaning close and staring unblinkingly at the Zubat. “Silvia, don’t be creepy.”

The Zubat edges away from her down his fingers. “She’s very sorry she hit you,” Gladion soothes. “You were battling us, right?” _Pip pip!_ “Because I’m a Trainer and you wanted to be caught?” _Pip pip!_ “Do you want to join our team?” _Pip pip!_ “This is exciting . . . I’ve never had a team before. Have you had a Trainer before?” _Pip!_ “Right. We’ll make a good team, won’t we?”

The Zubat lifts up out of his hand, wings outstretched, before folding his rickety arms and settling down again. 

——-

Gladion fully expected twice the amount of work now that the Zubat is part of their lives. Cross — the name Gladion pitched, which was received with great excitement — defies his expectations, settling in as if he’d always been there. It startles Gladion, how quickly he absolutely falls in love with Cross, but the little bat makes it difficult not to. His excitement is infectious.

He spends the remainder of the night googling everything he can about Zubats; Cross alternates between flitting all over the room and mapping it out with his chittering echolocation, and returning to Gladion to climb up and down his arm. The little bats and their evolutions were rarely taken in by Aether, so Gladion has never had hands-on experience with a Zubat. Clearly their absence meant derision; Gladion can only handle so many articles about Zubats being fed Rattata poison or being shot with pellet guns for sport before he slams his laptop shut and holds Cross close to his chest.

Gladion wakes up the next morning to find the little Zubat sleeping on his throat, tucked under his chin. After a talking-to about the dangers of sleeping in the bed with them, considering Cross’s small size, Cross takes to hanging from the shower curtain rod during the day to sleep. All Cross needs regarding food is a flat, plastic packet, like the kind that holds macaroni and cheese powder, full of Tauros blood once a day. It costs less than a dollar at the local Pokecenter. He’s delighted to comply with Gladion’s request in using a housetraining pad in the corner of the room for his bathroom needs. That he knows Idem is a crucial boon; training chores into such a small creature who can fly sounds daunting.

He learns, through a round of yes-or-no questions and a lot of guesswork, that Cross has been wild all his life and learned Idem by hanging around small towns on Akala. He’s always wanted to be a Trainer’s Pokemon, and nothing can tame his joy now that his ambition’s been realized. He seeks to include Gladion in everything, as an expression of goodwill and gratefulness; when eating, he insists on nursing his blood packet on Gladion’s lap or in his hand, and when grooming — which he seems to do as much as, if not more than, a bird — he’s similarly pushy. More often than not Gladion walks around with Cross tangled up in his hair, his little tongue and wing-hands at work trying to groom his new Trainer’s hair into a Zubat-approved style. 

For the first day and the next, wherever Cross goes, Silvia tries to follow. Unused to anything besides Gladion as she is, she perpetually tries to figure out their new roommate. Cross insists through singular peeps when questioned that he doesn’t _dislike_ Silvia, but he alights when she nears, and refuses to fly down to her; Gladion cannot guess the source of his aversion.

“Come on, girl,” Gladion chides when Silvia tries to creep up to Cross, who crawls up Gladion’s thigh and into his shirt pocket with apologetic chatter. “Leave him be, okay? He’ll check you out when he feels good about it.”

Silvia sits beside him, casting an uncertain gaze toward his pocket. “I don’t know why he’s nervous,” Gladion explains, rubbing her back consolingly, “but it might be because of the helmet. Pokemon don’t normally wear something like that. Pretend he isn’t there and he’ll warm up to you.”

Silvia rumbles, more from confusion than from ill will, and leans toward Gladion for shoulder rubs. Gladion frowns and complies, disconcerted, wishing there existed no friction between the two. “Well, you know _I_ always want to be with you,” he says, scratching the side of her neck. “You never scare me off.” Silvia’s rumble turns into a raspy croon. “There you go, pretty girl.”

——-

Gladion runs on limited time. With Cross caught, now all he has to do is get a boat ride to Ula’ula, get a bus to Po Town, join a notorious gang of thieves, and steal some Pokemon to earn money.

It strikes Gladion, as he pays for his ferry ticket — and watches the money change hands with considerable soreness — that he’s accomplished quite a lot for an eleven-year-old, and as long as he keeps this lucky streak going, even joining a crime gang can’t be that hard.

The longer he waits to board his ferry, and once boarded the longer the boat takes to depart, the tighter the knot in his stomach gets. He keeps Cross out on his shoulder for distraction; the little bat’s minuscule weight and warmth gives him something to focus on as Cross grooms himself and whatever part of Gladion’s hair he can reach.

“Secondary passenger, sir?” asks a passing ferry worker holding a scanner gun, gesturing to Cross. “I’ll need a tally of all Pokemon you’re transporting.”

“Sure.” Cross hops onto Gladion’s hand to be shown off, then Gladion takes out Silvia’s ball. “This ball is broken, so it’ll come up as an error, but there’s an Absol in here.”

The worker aims a scanner at Silvia’s ball and nods as ??? shows up on his screen. “You’re not fibbing, are you, son?” he chuckles conspiratorially. “No illegal species or anything?”

“Just an Absol,” Gladion confirms. 

“All right, I trust you. Safe travels!”

Gladion nods, unsmiling, and the worker wanders away. “Good boy,” he murmurs to Cross, rubbing his little skull with his thumb. Cross chirrups, nibbling affectionately at Gladion’s knuckle. “Are you ready for this? I should have asked how you felt sooner. It’s all right if you don’t think this is the work for you.”

Cross cheeps twice, and starts licking Gladion’s palm. “That tickles,” Gladion chides, chuckling quietly, and returns his Zubat to his shoulder. He levels a nasty glare at an older couple seated nearby who glance at him in disgust.

With a rumble, the ferry pulls out from the dock and chugs through frothy Alola waves. Gladion puts in headphones and sinks down in his seat, pulling his jacket’s hood tight around his face and closing his eyes. He passes the hour-and-a-half ferry ride thusly closed off; with music blasting in his ears, he misses the captain’s announcement on the loudspeaker halfway through the trip that if they look to the right, they can see the white hull of Aether Paradise, miles off.

A while later Gladion wobbles onto Malie City’s deck, stretching and loitering on the sidewalk to get his bearings. Cross flares his papery wings out, arms thin and rickety as twigs, and flashes his pearly teeth in a wide yawn. He crawls inside Gladion’s hoodie and tucks himself behind Gladion’s left ear, avoiding the sun’s harsh rays.

Gladion surveys the new island. Bamboo shoots arranged in patterned gardens sprout behind white fences, glittering bows of all colors tied to their green stalks. The path below is cobblestone, the buildings all around modeled after pictures he’s seen of the Johto region. Splashing seawater gushes under red bridges with sinuous dragons etched in gold all along the railings. People of all size and race mingle and shout through the wide streets, clad in jeans and jackets and kimonos alike, sometimes even combining styles. Gladion is quick to assign the gaudy colors to a tourist trap, but something about how ancient everything feels, in the dust gathered in cracks in the buildings’ wood, in the smooth polish of the stones beneath his feet, convinces him the aesthetic is authentic. The culture draws spectators, not the other way around.

Gladion feels the weight of Silvia’s Pokeball in his pocket and wishes he could bring her out, but he refrains. He has no idea where Aether employees could be stationed, and with this many people milling around, too much attention would be drawn to Silvia’s odd appearance. He’ll have to get to somewhere quieter to let her see the sights. It could take hours for her to be satisfied in sniffing just a fraction of what Gladion sees around him.

He smiles, wishing he could show her this introductory sight to Ula’ula. He’s spent every day for almost a year with her and still craves her presence.

The receptionist at the ferry office gives him a weird look when he asks how to get to Po Town, and tells him to make room for the next person in line. The woman texting on her phone by the bridge pretends she didn’t hear him. Only when Gladion stops the lone police officer he sees does he get an answer.

“Why on earth would a young man like yourself want to go to Po Town?” she asks. “You do know it was taken over by a gang, correct?”

“. . . Correct,” Gladion replies.

“And you still want to go?”

“If you aren’t going to tell me how to get there, just say so.”

“Whoa, kid, cool your jets. I can’t give you directions to a town a gang took over in good conscience, so don’t even _think_ about trying to get there.”

Gladion walks off without a word, ignoring the officer’s calls, and shoulders his way through the crowd. He gets his hands on a generic brochure and scans its colorful map. Po Town is practically on the other side of the island; he groans internally and sits down, finally pulling out his phone to punch in directions to Po Town in google. Most of what comes up is news reports about the takeover, and updates on the town’s condition from outside observation. Finally he finds a years-old travel guide, with an edited disclaimer at the top that the fortified city is no longer safe to approach. Thus armed, he gets up and sets out.

And it takes all day.

Bus rides, boat rides, grueling hikes, texts in caps lock, and a fair amount of wandering in circles later, Gladion huddles under a tree from the rain, wolfing down a granola bar and eyeing the gray walls of Po Town ahead.

 **To: Hibisca (Team Skull)**  
-Your directions suck.

 **From: Hibisca (Team Skul)**  
-LMAO LIKE MAYBE YOU SUCK????  
-AT FOLLOWING DIRECTIONS???  
-GIVE THAT A GD THOUGHT  
-if you see an old dude with red eyes and smells like meowth pee just ignore him thats nanu hes a cop  
-he never really does anything tho  
-his meowths are nice tho he let me pet them

 **To: Hibisca (Team Skull)**  
-I don’t care. My phone’s at 21% so tell me how to get into Po Town.

 **From: Hibisca (Team Skull)**  
-you are the nastiest fuckin kid  
-knock on thE FUCKIN DOOR  
-BUY A PORTABLE CHARGER  
-IT’S NOT ROCKET SURGERY

Gladion locks his phone with an irritated growl and tightens his hood’s embrace around his face. Cross wiggles through his hair to the crown of his head, popping his little face out above Gladion’s forehead and squeaking. Gladion glares up at Po Town’s solid walls, and inspects the small doors to within guarded by two Team Skull grunts. Nothing else stirs on the waterlogged path, aside from blades of grass disturbed by the constant shower of rain falling from above. 

Gladion has a feeling Team Skull grunts are a lot more intimidating as a whole than Hibisca and Roth. Praying Silvia can get him out of any trouble, he slides down the grassy ravine and out of the trees’ cover, just the pressure of his passage dislodging roots from the soggy soil. His feet squish and squeak in his wet sneakers. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and approaches the door with as much swagger as he can muster, staring down the grunts that notice him like he owns this town.

“Who’re you, kid?” one calls when Gladion is halfway across the cobblestone path. “You here for a Pokemon? You should know better than to come all the way up here, yo.”

Gladion stops a safe distance from them. They look and sound like adults. “I’m here to join.”

“Join? How old are you?”

“Eleven.”

“Yeah, no. It don’t quite work that way, kiddo. Run along home.”

“I want to join. I’m not leaving until you let me join.”

The grunt squares her stance and looks down at him cooly, a Pokeball suddenly in her hand. “Do I got to scare you off or what?”

Gladion fights to maintain eye contact. “Do what you like, but I’m not leaving.”

The grunt narrows her eyes; in a red flash a great purple shape fills the space between them, a wispy, gaseous face made of gaps in hardened, spiky smoke. The Haunter’s enormous mouth splits in a nightmarish grin, clenching the claws of its floating hands. A battle, then; Gladion was prepared for this. “Come on, Cross,” he orders, and the little Zubat hops out of his hood and hovers in the air before him, squeaking high-pitched and croaky. Cross looks impossibly tiny compared to the Haunter.

“Get ‘em out of here!” the grunt orders, and Gladion cries, “Cross, attack!” Cross dives while the Haunter’s body expands with its gaping mouth, billowing forth to engulf him. Gladion’s heart pounds in his stomach as Cross whisks all around his opponent, dodging swipes and bites with rapid flaps of his broad, agile wings. 

Gladion leans forward on his toes, transfixed on his bat’s every move, but luckily Cross has practiced enough in his excitement to fill in the gaps of Gladion’s inexperience. With deft swoops and drops Cross flits behind the Haunter wherever it turns. Gladion has a feeling he’s even showing off, executing flourishing turns and squeaking loudly. 

The Haunter, facing Gladion, shifts; it bobs in midair, its smoky body expanding and contracting like a purple heart, and suddenly, its face smooths over and disappears. “Cross, watch out!” Gladion cries; the Haunter’s face reappears where previously the back of its body was, and it springs upon Cross. Cross utters one panicked screech before the Haunter’s mouth smashes shut around him.

“Cross!” Gladion shouts, horrified; he charges at the Haunter, ready to pry its poison jaws open himself to get his Zubat back. It turns toward him, mouth still pressed in a thin line but grinning, before the holes making up its eyes suddenly stutter. Its mouth falls open with an otherworldly groan, its claws rigid and form turning more gaseous in distress; within its translucent body Gladion can see rapid activity. 

Cross shoots out of its open mouth, poison still trailing off his fur. Too excited to feel relieved, Gladion yells, “Do it more! Flap your wings inside it!” Cross, already on the same train of thought, dives right back into the Haunter’s body through its eye. With hard flaps of his wings, he dissipates more and more of the Haunter’s gaseous form, upsetting its innards and wavering the surface of its body. The Haunter wails, now trying to get away from him, but Cross dodges every defensive swipe it aims his way, diving into its body again and making swirls of its insides. An acrid smell fills the air.

“Hey, knock it off!” the grunt yells, arms outstretched. “All right, all right, return! C’mere, baby.” The Haunter tears itself away from Cross and wobbles back to its trainer, squishing its malformed body into her front. “Aww, no baby, don’t you worry. Do you feel sick? I’m gonna go beat up the big mean bat.”

 _Did we just win?_ Gladion holds his hand out for Cross to land in, his mind racing. He couldn’t have just won his first ever battle, could he? It was so much messier and undignified than he ever imagined it, and all he could do was squirm on the sidelines. His spine crawls with the helpless feeling.

“How did you just lose against a nine-year-old with a Zubat, dude?” the other grunt guarding the door asks.

“Fuck off.” The grunt’s hands pet her vaporous Pokemon as if it has substance.

“So are you going to let me in?” Gladion demands. Cross screeches dramatically and unfurls his wings, as if to back Gladion up.

“No, I’m gonna kill ya.”

“He did beat you,” the other grunt points out.

“So? Since when did we agree he gets in if he beats Figgy?”

“I dunno, man. That’s kind of a dick move, turning him away after he won. That’s, like, honor code and shit.”

“Honor code my ass. We’re a gang.”

“Oh, right.”

“Hello?” Gladion interrupts.

“Aw, let’s just do it,” the chiller grunt says. “What’s the worst that could happen? Gooz says no?”

“The worst that could happen is Guzma beats the tar out of us, but whatever,” replies his grumpy companion. “It was your idea if anyone asks. You owe me a steak dinner, kid.”

Gladion’s heart thumps wildly as the two grunts turn to open the doors. He looks down at Cross and flashes him a rare, wide grin. “You did amazing,” he whispers, pulling his Zubat close to kiss his tiny head — Cross croaks happily — and opens his mouth to praise his intelligence, his good listening, his quick thinking, before he’s interrupted by the grunts beckoning him in.

The first thing Gladion notices is the noise. It rumbles harshly through his eardrums, crackling around his head. He stalls in the broad doorway, spooked and quickly identifying its source. Rain pours within Po Town, its heavy sheets blanketing the world in gray. Thunder rumbles overhead, accompanied by sibling streaks of lightning that flit between black clouds. Gladion can barely see ten feet before him from the torrent; he glances back at the comparatively sunny day behind, then ahead into a hurricane. It feels like he stepped into a dream.

“Yeah, that’s normal,” the female grunt says aside to Gladion, noticing him craning his head up to see the sky’s divide between white and dark gray clouds at the wall’s peak. With a flash, her Haunter disappears into its ball. “It’s always raining here, and _just_ in here. Tapu Bulu’s been trying to flush us out for years. This is the best she can do.”

“Takes more than some lousy rain to make Team Skull budge,” the other grunt muses, as he pulls his cap down on his head. “Man, not my do. This is why I like gate duty.”

Gladion’s tuft over his right eye droops within seconds, drenched and burnished dark. He tucks it behind his ear and squints through the heavy downpour. The gray shapes of buildings loom through the darkness, like hunched beasts trying to escape the rain. Fat drops soak Gladion to the bone in seconds when he steps out of the doorway’s shelter; Cross squeaks and disappears into Gladion’s hoodie, tunneling a path between clingy cotton and his Trainer to hide from the wet.

“How exactly am I signing up?” Gladion demands, following the two grunts on a slippery cobblestone path that might be a main road. The sooner he’s out of this eerie town, the better.

“You meet Guzma, you fight Guzma, you get a job,” the surlier grunt replies. “If your Zubat’s up to the task, that is.”

“Wait, wait. I _fight_ Guzma?” Gladion repeats, voice raised in alarm. “I have to battle him?”

“Sure, shorty. What, scared of the rumors you’ve heard? We all had to battle him before joinin’, kid. It comes with the territory.”

Gladion’s head swims. _Hibisca, you are dead meat for not mentioning this._ “Do I have to win?”

“If you’re so scared, if you’re such a beginner, why are you here in the first place?” she fires at him.

Gladion opens his mouth to answer, but no sound comes out. _Because I’m desperate!_ he wants to yell. _You don’t know what I’m struggling with!_

“Bro, why don’t you go run ahead and let Guzma know we’re comin’?” the other grunt suggests. “Get someone to watch the door, too.”

She shrugs. “Beats bein’ a babysitter. Wouldn’t wanna be ya, kid.” She trots ahead into the rain, swallowed quickly by the deluge.

“She ain’t so bad,” Gladion’s escort says conspiratorially. “Guzma ain’t bad either. You know how to battle, right? Obviously.”

“That was my first one,” Gladion replies stiffly. A dark slash draws his eye: sloppy graffiti, sprayed on the road in the shape of some ovular Pokemon.

“Oh, no shit? Well, just do the same thing you did with my friend. Your Zubat’s pretty cool. They your only Pokemon?”

“N- Yes.”

“Might wanna get more. We got Salandits, if you like Poison types. You’d be like a knockoff Plums.”

Gladion doesn’t know why the grunt is being so nice, and doesn’t care to find out. “Hmph,” is his only reply. He’d rather focus on a game plan for his unexpected battle with Guzma. He doesn’t even know what Pokemon Guzma will _have._ How is he supposed to win a battle against a gang leader? 

He gulps. What exactly is stopping these people from turning on him and taking Cross? Or finding Silvia’s ball in his pocket and taking her too? They are all bigger, older, and stronger than he is, and he walked into this not even halfway prepared. A million questions he could’ve and _should’ve_ asked Hibisca race through his mind. 

He twitches badly when another pair of footsteps joins them, then another; Team Skull grunts materialize out of the rain, from behind listing trees and graffitied stanchions, stumbling alongside Gladion and his guide in patchy groups. “We got someone new?” asks one. “Yo, they’re goin’ to see Guzman!” crows another.

“Battle?” others chorus in surprise and glee. “You’re battling? Yo, he’s battlin’! He’s gonna battle Guzma!” 

Some of them run off, shouting to each other, and others press closer. “What Pokemon you got?” 

“You’re short. How old are you, man?”

“You got what it takes to beat the big boss? I don’t think so.”

“I don’t see it in his eyes. Remember the last guy? Guzma sent him runnin’ home with nothin’ left.”

Gladion resists the urge to walk closer to the nice grunt and stares ahead, ignoring them. Some of them try to get in his face, but step back when he refuses to swerve. He schools his face into disinterest, but his traitorous heart gallops with panic. He swallows a big gulp as he follows — or leads, or both — the growing crowd of grunts around a red pickup that’s more rust than metal. He should’ve known better than to put Silvia and Cross into his dangerous situation. His irresponsibility as their Trainer could cost them everything.

“Here we are,” the grunt announces, and Gladion looks up. At first he thinks they’ve reached the end of town, and ahead looms the opposite wall. Then he discerns a wide, chunky rooftop, sagging and crisscrossed by wide beams. Thunder roars, and a lightning strike illuminates a single flash of a mansion, or its remains. Within his momentary glimpse Gladion spots shattered windows, graffitied walls, cracked doors. Black metal lampposts shining with nothing but wet stud the steps leading up to the mansion; squat hedges with exposed roots curled around slops of mud corral a long-flooded pool. It seems Team Skull wasn’t content with conquering this town; they had to destroy it too.

Gladion is going to have a serious word with what Rotheca Serrata considers “safe. Really.”

The grunt leads Gladion under the mansion’s overhang, and they shelter themselves from the rain. It almost seems to pour harder here; no grass remains surrounding the house, their soggy roots swept away long ago. The ground is indented where the rain hits hardest, and the washed-away soil cakes the mansion’s walls like the earth is trying to swallow it down. Gladion wonders if the Tapu is targeting the house especially. He didn’t know one Pokemon could have that much power.

“This is the Shady House,” the grunt intones, patting the peeling wall beside them like one would pat a moody pet no one in the family particularly likes.

“Home base, yo!” another girl says.

“Kicked the fancy lords an’ ladies out on their asses in no time, yo!”

Gladion balances on the driest patch of mud he can find. “How long has it been raining here?”

His guide shrugs. “Years.”

The grunt that fought Gladion — at least he thinks so, when they all have masks on — opens the heavy oak doors to pop her head out. “Can’t find Guzma,” she drawls. “I texted him an’ shit, but no dice.”

“What about Plums?” 

“She ain’t anywhere, either. Lemme look again.” She closes the door again, leaving Gladion to wonder why they can’t wait inside instead of out here in the rain.

“They always go missin’ at the same time,” someone in the crowd complains; hysterical laughter and wolf-whistles answer her. 

The grunt pops her head out again. “Just kidding, he just appeared,” she announces. “Get inside. You guys look like wet Meowths.”

“No thanks ta you,” her door-guarding companion mutters, then turns to Gladion. “After you, kid. Unless you wanna head back. I’ll let ya out if you do.”

It’s a kind gesture, but not one Gladion is going to take. Without a word he pushes past his least-favorite grunt and marches inside the house.

Gladion steps into the biggest room he’s ever seen. Not even his own mansion had a foyer this big; Po Town must’ve been the lap of luxury before it was taken over by these hooligans. The wide open air echoes with muffled raindrops against the cracked windows and craggy roof outside. The maroon rug underfoot is marred with stains and paint splotches; the walls are covered in pockmarks and scratches. Ornate mahogany desks, china cabinets, and ten-by-ten picture frames litter the floor, ransacked and ruined beyond recovery. 

Twin staircases converge into one on the opposite end of the room, and sitting on these stairs is a man. Team Skull grunts mill around him, twitchy and leery-eyed. A cloud of white hair tops the man’s head; baggy black clothes hang off his broad body. A golden skull on the end of a chain swings loosely in front of his white t-shirt. And all of his focus is now zeroed in on the new arrival; Gladion resists the urge to fidget under his piercing gaze.

Gladion stalls, but the crowd of soggy grunts behind him spills inside in a rush, cackling and babbling, and Gladion is swept ahead at their crest. More stampeding footsteps fill the air as doors fly open upstairs to unleash streams of curious grunts. The foyer fills up quick. “Battle?” they chorus to one another. “Someone’s joinin’? Someone’s battlin’ Guzma?” 

The grunts form a ring around them of black and white and eager all over, stranding Gladion directly before Guzma, for this must be the feared boss everyone keeps talking about. Gladion thinks longingly of a few Help Wanted signs in Heahea City.

The man’s mouth splits. “What’ve you goons got me here for?” he booms; his voice swells to fill every crevice, to bounce into every eardrum. “What’re you wastin’ my time with?”

“New recruit,” calls back Gladion’s guide. 

“He’s so small!” yells the crowd. “Oooh, he’s gonna get beat!”

An eleven-year-old with a Zubat, versus a gang. The magnitude of what Gladion’s plan has come to, of what his need for money has driven him into, surrounds him like the crowd. His heart races, and he honestly wonders if he just walked into pain or death. The gang presses in with hungry eyes and mouths; they don’t seem to care how young Gladion is, only wanting a show. Why, oh why, didn’t he take that grunt’s offer to scram?

Standing here will do nothing. His first step forward is shaky, halting, stumbling. The next has momentum. Gladion marches toward Guzma, to the center of attention, and stands firm with all eyes on him. “I want to join Team Skull,” he announces, voice raw from shouting over everyone else.

Guzma’s hands slap down to his knees; he leans forward and rises . . . and rises . . . and keeps rising. He seems to never stop. Feet spread far apart and back hunched, he towers over Gladion at a striking height, looming like a giant. Nausea roars in Gladion’s stomach as an honest-to-god shadow falls over him. Guzma is the largest human being Gladion has ever seen. Something about Guzma’s sheer size is so off, like someone took him from a different, more zoomed-in picture and shopped him before Gladion.

The skin of Guzma’s broad face is craggy and irregular, like a hewn carving; with a start, Gladion realizes Guzma is covered in scars. White lines crisscross Guzma’s face, splitting his lips and eyebrows, banding his nose. Their sharp edges poke out of his collar and sleeves, lancing his neck and arms with pale troughs. His puffy, snowy hair seems to maintain its own volume, sticking every which way in an irregular ball. His eyes stare from within deep, dark sockets, an eerily pale gray color.

A wide grin splits Guzma’s face, too wide to be comfortable. “You wanna join Team Skull?” he thunders; his voice is just as disconcerting as the rest of him, dizzyingly deep and projecting. 

“I’ve only said it five times already,” Gladion replies before he can even think.

Guzma’s eyes get impossibly wider; his black pupils stand out in sharp relief against his pale irises, making him look permanently startled and alert. “It’s not every day some kid waltzes in for a one-on-one. What you want, kid? You wanna impress your friends? Maybe . . . rough up some enemies?”

“I want money,” Gladion replies shortly. “And I want to stay out of the limelight.”

“You used to it, then?” Guzma wonders. “Money. An’ the first place a shrimp like you goes is to Team Skull. We philanthropists now, fellas? We an orphanage?” His congregation starts to jeer. “What makes you think you got somethin’ to bring to the table? You aimin’ to wash our dishes for some pocket change?”

“I can help steal. I have Pokemon.”

“So does everyone, shorty,” Guzma snorts. “You ain’t special.”

“All he’s got is a Zubat, boss!” a female voice shouts, and Gladion curses that loathsome grunt who guarded the gate.

“A Zubat. Yeah, I can sure see a return on this investment. A cryin’ kid, runnin’ home to Mama the first time someone looks at ‘em funny.” Guzma shakes his head. “You ain’t cut out for this, no matter how mature you think you are. Run on home before I make you regret today.”

Gladion’s heart sinks. “Why not battle me before you decide that?” he blurts out. “Give me a chance!”

“Why?” Guzma wonders, and leans forward. “Why you this desperate, kid? Savin’ up for a Gyarados? Mommy didn’t buy the new phone you wanted?”

“That’s none of your business.” Gladion feels childish for even saying that.

“I’m givin’ you an out, an’ here you are refusin’ to leave,” Guzma sighs. He shakes his head, eyes closed. He slowly turns his head to the left, looking almost mournful, and opens his eyes. “Should I?”

“Yes!” the crowd yells back.

Guzma turns to the right. “Should I?”

“YEAHHH!” they scream.

Then the gaze Guzma levels down on Gladion is wild-eyed, over a psychotic grin. “Let’s see how desperate you really are.”

 _Here we go._ Gladion gulps, mouth set in a grim line. Little footprints pace from his hoodie to his shoulder, and he looks down at Cross for approval. The Zubat twitches his triangular ears, then executes a clumsy nod, a feat that comes across more as a bow for all the neck Cross lacks. It’s dissonantly adorable. Gladion gives him a little nuzzle with his cheek and whispers, “Do your best.”

Cross hops off of his shoulder and falls, flaring out his wings close to the ground and rising in an elegant swoop. Gladion can only snort at Cross’s dramatic flair. He bobs in a figure-eight, facing Guzma and squeaking loudly.

An Ultra Ball appears in Guzma’s hand, the first death knell; Guzma tosses it up and catches it a few times, grinning like he wants to eat Gladion alive. Whatever’s in that ball will clearly make a meal of him.

With a lazy underhand toss, Guzma sends the ball flying forward. For one breathless second it arches through the air, hits the ground with a heavy bounce, and rises again before opening. 

The shape that springs forward from it could fill the whole room for all its mass. A great, hulking beast appears, all gleaming cream carapace and sharp black edges. It is a Pokemon Gladion has never seen before. Hunchbacked and heavily armored, the bug type-looking Pokemon unfurls six arms, four spindly and tipped with solitary black points, the primary two in front long and thick with powerful armor and two wicked, serrated claws. Its carapace flares out at the sides like castle spikes. Its crinkled belly looks like thick, clear plastic, stained with fish juice held inside, folded over itself into rows. The underside of its short, broad tail shimmers with flat gills between its stout legs. Purple antennae swivel over black compound eyes and a clicking pair of mandibles. 

It chitters, twitching mouthparts the only movement on its frozen face. Gladion stands aghast, rooted in place. Cross is smaller than that thing’s eye. How on earth is this going to go anywhere that isn’t terrible?

Cross, to his credit, flaps undaunted, squeaking in challenging defiance. _Crazy brave bat, don’t you see what you’re up against?_ “Cross, watch out,” Gladion says stupidly, for what he knows not. With a spastic spurt of flapping, Cross dives directly at his enormous enemy. The crowd inhales a collective gasp, leaning forward as one in a moment of silent anticipation.

“Goliath,” Guzma booms. “Why don’t you give our guests a good ol’ _first impression.”_

What happens next is so fast, Gladion has only impressions of what’s going on. One second Cross is swooping toward the brutish bug, frozen in the same position it was in when it first emerged from its ball; before even the next, a whoosh and a powerful _thwack_ later, the bug’s body is twisted forward, its powerful forearm raised. Cross flies back through the air like a bullet; his little body hits the ground like a rubber ball and he bounces, landing on his back with wings sprawled out. 

The room erupts in cheers and shouts, reveling in a private joke fulfilled. Guzma clutches his stomach and rolls on his back, kicking his sneakers and roaring with laughter. “CROSS!” Gladion shouts, and dives to the ground, hands scrabbling the rug for his Zubat. He lifts Cross’s limp body in his hands, hands shaking with horror. He only breathes again when he sees Cross do so, his little furry chest pulsing with quick, pained breaths. Stunned, not injured. Gladion feels faint.

“Is that all?” Guzma demands, staggering back to his feet with all his mass, all his long and thick limbs. Gladion is reminded of kaiju movies, of giant monsters who take ages to take even a step. “Is that _all?_ You ain’t even been here a minute and that’s all you got? Somehow I expected more.”

Gladion has no answer, no answer at all. He stands there hunched over his fallen Pokemon, surrounded by laughter and shouting pressing in hard. Gladion can feel his guts leaving far before his feet will have the chance. It was over before it even started.

“You really got nothin’ else?” Guzma wonders more; Goliath’s milky carapace shimmers as it straightens back up, flexing its black claws. “Nothin’ else to impress me? That’s a shame, kid. It was fun while it lasted, an’ I commend ya for getting this far. But now-“

“Use Silvia!”

Gladion’s stomach plummets. Guzma looks around, frowning. “Who’s that, there?”

A pink head and a yellow head jump up and down in the middle of the crowd from their left: Roth and Hibisca, wide grins on their oblivious faces. “YO, use Silvia!” they scream, waving their arms. “Battle with Silvia!”

 _Quiet, you idiots!_ Gladion wants to scream, but can only stand there in horror as they get louder. “Boss, he’s got an Absol!” Roth crows bravely to Guzma. “Boss, I bet she could battle Goliath real good!”

Gladion’s pulse thrums through his stomach as he steps back from Guzma, but freezes when Guzma again pierces him with that wild, pale gaze. “You got another Pokemon, kid?”

“No. No, I don’t have her with me!”

“Bring out Silvia!” Hibisca yells. “Battle with Silvia!”

“So,” Guzma booms, “you’ve been holdin’ out on me. Why don’t you bring her out there, then?” His grin widens. “I’d like to see anythin’ that’ll give Goliath a run for his money.”

Gladion’s pocket burns where Silvia’s ball is buried. “She doesn’t battle,” Gladion insists after a terse pause. What if Guzma gets impatient and just orders his goons to search him?

“I don’t got all day,” Guzma suddenly snaps, “an’ I don’t got much patience to pull all your teeth out either. Every Pokemon can battle if it wants to. You’re not givin’ her a fighting chance. Let us see.”

Gladion gulps, feeling like he’s moving through molasses. With shaky hands, he takes out Cross’s ball and disappears him, conscious more than ever of all the eyes on him. It isn’t that he considers Cross expendable — he still has sticky, dreadful aftershocks tingling his fingers and toes, effects of watching his bat get clobbered — but he never stole Silvia with the intent to wield her in battle. That feels too much like using her more than he originally intended.

Guzma is starting to look angry. Gladion takes out Silvia’s ball and grips it for a moment, praying and praying that nothing goes wrong. _I’ll just tell him she doesn’t battle. He’ll see her, and that should be all._

He turns her ball and clicks it open.

Silvia appears, standing pliantly as she did when Gladion put her in that morning at home. She goes from relaxed to stiff in a second, croaking uncertainly and swinging her helmet side to side to take in the crowd. Team Skull gasps, leaning back this time instead of forward, and silence reigns for a shocked moment. Goliath’s antennae swivel forward, the only expression of shock he seems capable of. At the sight of him Silvia backpedals to Gladion, seeking comfort.

“. . . Absol, huh?” Guzma asks, in the quietest voice he’s used thus far.

“That’s an Absol?” someone shouts.

“What the hell is that thing on her head?” wonders another.

“HI, SILVIA!” Roth screeches from the back. 

Silvia perks up and, before Gladion can stop her, whoops back, “Hiii-iii!”

“WHAT THE FUCK,” say fifteen people in unison.

“She doesn’t battle,” Gladion calls to Guzma, trying to drown out countless calls of, “Do it again!” and “What the fuck is that thing?” 

Guzma looks Silvia up and down, gaze lingering on her sharp green claws, her bronze helmet. “Looks like she could. Give it a shot.”

“Are you just going to force me to anyway?” Gladion asks anxiously.

Guzma spreads his arms, palms and fingers up. “You came here to see if you can run with Team Skull. One downed Zubat later, an’ all of a sudden you’re gettin’ cold feet? Prove you can earn your keep.”

It’s true, but Gladion hates that it needs to be said. He turns his back on Guzma and Goliath, holding Silvia’s helmet and looking into her eye. “Silvia, Cross fainted and can’t battle. Guzma wants you to battle his Pokemon.” He sees her glance over his head at Goliath. “If we win, we- I get to be in this gang, and I can do things for them and get money in return. If you don’t want to do this, we can leave. We can find some other way.”

Silvia takes her helmet out of his hands before he even finishes speaking, pacing around him to face Goliath with front legs spread. Gladion’s heart flutters with panic, and with love. 

“I see she made her choice,” Guzma announces; Team Skull starts cheering and jumping around, eyes wide with anticipation. “Go on, Goliath.”

With short, smooth steps, Goliath begins to close the distance between himself and his opponent. Silvia copies him, helmet up always to stare at him. Gladion winces at her stiff waddle compared to Goliath’s glide. He wonders if it’s obvious to anyone else how unhealthy she is.

It feels like something is being slowly pulled out of Gladion’s chest as he watches Silvia go off. At least she and Goliath are nearly matched in size. His hands curl into fists; he needs to be her Trainer right now, not her guardian. “Stay away from his arms, Silvia,” Gladion calls. “He has an attack so fast you can’t even see it.”

“That thing’s sick,” Guzma says shortly. “Sick and slow. Get her, Goliath.”

 _Sick?_ Gladion thinks with anger. 

Goliath suddenly darts forward, body and arms twisted away from Silvia. “Silvia, dodge it!” Gladion shouts, stammering from shock.

Silvia’s body curves away from Goliath, but her constrained legs scramble too slow; Goliath swivels and slams the back of his arm into her, lifting her off her feet and sending her flying onto her side. Silvia lands with a cry, claws slashing through the air; her helmet skids across the rug, dragging her by her head.

“SILVIA!” Gladion screams, the back of his neck tingling; for one selfish second he acknowledges how different this is from when it happened to Cross, how much more it hurts with Silvia. He starts to run forward.

Silvia heaves herself to her feet and lumbers toward Goliath again, hissing ferociously. She hops up on her hind legs and lifts her claws to scratch at him, pathetically slow; Goliath turns on one foot and slaps her away with his palm, knocking Silvia on her side once more. Her helmet’s sharp wake leaves rips in the carpet.

“Stop throwing her!” Gladion shouts, feeling lightheaded until he sees Silvia stir and stand. “The helmet- You’ll break her neck!”

“Oh, come _on,”_ Guzma growls. “You come at me with untrained Pokemon, demandin’ to be let in? You’re amountin’ to nothing more than a waste of time, kid! You shouldn’t have challenged me if you weren’t prepared to lose!”

Jeers fill the air as if on cue, crowding Gladion’s ears with screechy voices. “Silvia!” he calls. “Silvia, are you okay?”

Goliath turns toward Guzma for command, his side to Silvia. She faces him head-on, her helmet lowered to the ground. She rears her neck back and screeches, a harsh, undulating cry, tinny and deep from the helmet’s interference. When Goliath still does not turn she makes it again, louder and deeper, slamming her front legs into the ground.

She lowers her head like a Rhyhorn, helmet glinting, all sharp edges and corners. Gladion stares at the rips in the carpet below her and thinks about the shredded wallpaper back at home. “Silvia!”

She needs no direction from him, coming to the same conclusion at the same time. Waddling slow at first, she gains momentum into a charge, head bowed. Goliath turns too slow; she rams into his side helmet-first and he buckles around her, left arms pinned to his stomach from her blow. He detaches himself from her with a rattling cry, backing away. Silvia follows him, rocking her head side to side; her helmet whistles as she swings it like a mace.

“Yes, Silvia! Use its weight as a weapon!” Gladion crows.

“Goliath!” Guzma yells, something like alarm in his voice. Gladion looks closely; cracks have opened in Goliath’s carapace where he was struck. He stumbles back out of Silvia’s deadly range, bowing to protect his underbelly. He attempts to stop her swinging with the armored part of his right arm; she rams the side of her helmet into it and pushes it out of the way, reaching up with a claw and slashing at his exposed side. Scratches open in his maroon, unarmored flesh.

Goliath utters a whining series of clicks, slashing at her with his other arm. For a third time she’s knocked onto her side, twin shallow cuts opening across her ribs. She screeches, more out of indignation than pain.

Goliath moves back, his antennae swiveling forward to inspect his cracked side, his struck arm. Silvia staggers up to her feet, left foreleg tucked to her chest. Blood runs sluggish trails through her fur and across her skin, dripping from her belly; she twitches every time a drop strikes her folded claw. Gladion’s soul withers at the sight of her blood. She tips her head back and screams again, a hideous, stuttering shriek.

 _Why are all of my Pokemon so dramatic?_ Gladion wonders, as if from far away. “Silvia, don’t get close until you can hit him without the arms hitting you! Circle around and hit his back!”

Silvia sidesteps, feathers pressed slick to her neck. A vicious hiss echoes out of her helmet. 

“Goliath,” Guzma thunders, and gives no instruction. Gladion doesn’t think he needs to. Even with a few hits landed, Gladion doesn’t feel the grace of any upper hand. 

Silvia lumbers around Goliath and lunges in the direction of his side. With one heavy step, Goliath swivels in her direction and leans sideways, one huge arm pointed directly skyward, serrated claws curved back. And with his twitchy quickness, Goliath sends his palm crashing down on Silvia’s helmet, stopping her charge in its tracks and slamming her head into the ground.

Silvia hits the rug with an ugly rasp, legs kicking her body up and down, limp tail flopping side to side. She screeches as Goliath keeps her helmet pinned to the floor, shoving forward and pulling back like a Growlithe with its head stuck in a burrow. Her front claws try to reach up to him, try to claw at anything she can get, but her tight body doesn’t allow her forelimbs to move any further than flat against the floor.

“Get your legs underneath you!” Gladion yells over the crowd’s jeers and boos. “Force your body up!”

Guzma crosses his arms and grins, eyeing Gladion superiorly. Sometime during the battle he squatted, and it would look ridiculous if Guzma wasn’t generally terrifying. “Interestin’ Absol you’ve got here,” he observes. “Never seen anythin’ like her.”

“Absols are rare,” Gladion retorts. “Silvia, get your feet under yourself!”

Silvia screams again, frustrated. Her claws leave deep rips in the carpet and squeal against the wood beneath. “Never seen _anythin’_ like her,” Guzma continues, his voice rumbling beneath the smoke coming out of his grunts’ yelling mouths, shaking Gladion’s bones like a bass guitar. “Where’d you get your hands on the likes of her? Your skin tone don’t strike me as a mountain climber.”

“None of your business.”

“I might be your boss soon, no? Seems like my business. God, does this thing never tire?” Guzma demands, arms swinging at Silvia. She struggles still, feet scrambling in every direction, neck wrenching. She croaks a ghastly tirade of furious gurgles. Goliath is using both of his arms to force her helmet down now, claws on either side of her crest, feet planted wide to brace himself against her. Her hind leg hits the ground hard, digs in, kicks out; Goliath stumbles back a foot as she jerks forward.

“Seems like a no,” Guzma muses, watching Silvia force Goliath back another few feet. “A’ight, a’ight, Goliath, let up, will ya?”

Goliath’s antennae swivel to acknowledge his Trainer. He straightens up, steps to the side, and lifts his arms off Silvia’s helmet. She drives so much force into being released that she staggers forward and trips, like an overzealous Tauros. 

“Now beat her down!”

Silvia spins, bellowing, delivering her helmet right into Goliath’s claws. He grips the sides of it again, feet braced into the ground — with a heave of his great curved back, he pulls back and up. Silvia’s front feet leave the ground, then the hind — and Goliath has Silvia lifted into the air by her head, immobilized.

“No!” The horrible indignity of it goes straight to Gladion’s stomach; he’s going to be sick. “Stop, stop it! You’re hurting her!”

No matter how much he screams, no one cares. Silvia dangles like a hanged dog, feet feebly kicking for the floor, for Goliath’s exposed stomach, for anything. The giant bug stomps a foot backward, turns, and hurls his prey away.

There’s a sick second where Silvia suspends in the air, helmet glinting, tail limp and flapping. Then she hits the ground hard, rump first. Her shoulders slam down after, helmet glancing heavily off the ground. For another sick second she flips, but her head does not; Gladion is sure her neck will break as momentum drags her one way and the helmet’s weight pins her in another. The thought is so horrifying he can’t see for a moment, can’t hear; his vision lists as he waits for her to go limp.

Silvia’s front claw slams to the ground. Her twisted body jerks, and realigns. She rips her limbs out from where they landed trapped beneath her and struggles back to her feet. 

Goliath stands above her, arm raised, claws curled inward. With a thunderous punch to her back, he sends Silvia crashing back down to earth. She bellows, rattling the windows in their frames, and gathers her feet below her to lunge at his bowed stomach.

The battle is less choreographed, less of a dance; now it looks like a death struggle, looks clumsy and exhausted and slow. Gladion can’t take it anymore. He never prepared when he should’ve, and never turned back when he should’ve. All his false starts at running into the battle build into a charge; he rushes toward the writhing Pokemon, shouting, “Stop. Stop!”

Goliath gets his palms on Silvia’s shoulders and he shoves her back; her claws rip great wounds in the rug beneath her. She snarls and bunches her legs to bound toward him. “Stop the battle!” Gladion yells, skidding to a stop between them. For a second his spine jolts, his frail body in the path of two giants, about to be flattened into paper. For a vivid moment he can see every bead in Goliath’s compound eyes. 

Then Silvia skids to a stop behind him, snorting in confusion. He turns to her and his hands find her hot shoulders, her scratched side. Already the wound has scabbed over, and the blood that ran from it has dried to russet branches on her charcoal skin. Silvia cannot stand still, her feet stamping an unsteady beat. She pivots to one side, then another; her gaze glances off the crowd, off Guzma, and settles on Gladion the longest.

“We’re done, we’re done,” Gladion hisses. He pushes on her, gets her further from Goliath. “We’ll find another way. I’m sorry. I didn’t think this through.”

“What makes you think we’re done?” 

Gulping, Gladion turns to Guzma. The boss is standing now, his frigid stare forming ice around Gladion. Gladion squares his feet and curls his hands into fists. “I forfeit. Sorry for your trouble. There are things more important to me than this battle.”

Guzma’s head tilts to the side. “I said,” he enunciates, “what makes you think we’re _done?_ Did I say you could quit? Did I say you could go?”

Silvia hisses, stamping her claws into the floor. “You offered to let me go before,” Gladion says defiantly.

“Before, was before. This is now. Guzma don’t quit. Guzma don’t _lose.”_ Guzma’s chin juts into the air, his arms crossed before his chest. “You ain’t goin’ nowhere, kid. Not until I have my win.”

Goliath looks at Guzma, then at his foes. Gladion backs up, until his back hits the hard muscle of Silvia’s shoulder. “You’d go after an- an unwilling opponent?”

Something in Guzma’s voice is more dangerous than anything thus far. It is a threat unstated. “You think you’re safe ‘cause you’re a kid? ‘Cause you care about your Absol _so much?_ I don’t think you know what you signed up for. Goliath, show him exactly what that is.”

Silvia utters a scratchy warble, helmet low; she moves to step around Gladion and put herself between them and him. Gladion plants himself in front of her. He won’t sit complacent and watch Silvia get thrown around even one more time. If Guzma would hurt a child . . . that’s a lesson Gladion will have to suffer before he ever puts Silvia in this kind of situation again.

Goliath lifts his foot, then puts it down. His antennae whirl through the air; his mouthparts rustle and click.

Then he turns and gazes at Guzma, claws to the ground, and Guzma stares back at him. Something exchanges between the two of them, something Gladion can only guess; he has no idea how anyone could read anything from Goliath’s frozen face.

Guzma’s eyes narrow; a growl rumbles low from his throat. He advances on Gladion with arms swinging. “This was a win,” he snaps, back hunched low to glare directly in Gladion’s face. His icy eyes freeze; the irregular knitting of his face swallows light. “You hear me? _This was a win._ You lost.”

Gladion opens his mouth to retort, but what comes out is, “Yes. I hear you.”

“I won.”

“You won.” _This guy has screws loose._

Guzma whirls to the crowd. “Poor boy’s quakin’,” he simpers, and Team Skull cackles as one voice. “Bit of a disappointment, really. Was _anyone_ havin’ fun during that? Didn’t think so.”

Gladion draws close to Silvia, holding her helmet. No mark exists where Goliath held it down. Silvia’s flinty stare bores into him. “I’m just glad you didn’t faint,” Gladion whispers. “Thank you. You did wonderfully. I didn’t expect you to be so fierce.”

Silvia rasps and lifts her head, taking the praise. “Was that- Was that it?” Gladion demands of Guzma.

Guzma is at Goliath’s side, hand on the dome of his Pokemon’s head. He inspects Goliath’s wounds with an indiscernible expression. “Apparently so.”

Gladion puts his hands on his hips, head tilted angrily to the side. Pointless, pointless, pointless spectacle. “What? Were you afraid of losing?”

Guzma straightens up like a puppeteer pulled his strings taut. He turns and levels Gladion with an expression that makes him shrink back. “You’re new here, so I’ll forgive ya just this once,” he snarls. “But remember this now: your boy Guzma is _never_ afraid of losing.” Some of the ice thaws in his eyes, until he doesn’t look as insane. Mostly. “I see no point in beatin’ down a kid, that’s all, an’ a Pokemon that clearly knows nothin’ about battling. You did them a disservice. You didn’t prepare enough.”

Team Skull obediently boos, _“Ooooh!”_ as one voice, like a sports crowd at a foul. Gladion’s cheeks burn.

“I don’t say this often, ‘cause little twerps like you don’t come a-knockin’ every day, see. I ain’t a babysitter. You are responsible for your own damn actions, an’ you’re responsible for them too.” Guzma jerks his chin up at Silvia. “Pokemon battling 101: they matter more than your own measly life. Don’t you forget that. Pittin’ some ‘mons you clearly care about against the likes of big bad Guzma — boy, are you stupid? Are you crazy? That coulda ended way worse for you.”

Just seconds before, Gladion thought Guzma was going to fight them with his bare hands, and suddenly he sounds like a disappointed teacher. Does no one call out his own contradictions? Looking around at the wide eyes and wider grins of the people surrounding them, Gladion doesn’t think so.

“But you got potential,” Guzma goes on; Gladion’s heart jumps. “Yeah, yeah, maybe you do. Maybe if you learned a thing or two, you’d be useful. Clearly that thing’s got weight to throw around.”

“Does that mean you’re letting me in?” Gladion cuts in. Silvia leans forward, stare locked on Guzma.

“Maybe. Maaaybe. I don’t know, fellas. What do you say?”

Half the room bellows, “YEAAAH!” The other shouts, “NOOOO!”

“All right, all right, I don’t got time to count ya damn hands,” Guzma snaps, shutting them up. Gladion cannot read his face; something about the crags, or maybe the scars, makes it unreal. “I suppose any muscle _is_ muscle. That thing did _not_ wanna give in. I could find use for you somewhere.”

 _I’m in. I’m in. We’re not going to be homeless._ Gladion can’t speak for a moment. “I want . . . I want advance payment. Right now.”

Guzma bursts into laughter, bent double and clutching his stomach. “Boy, _what?_ You didn’t even do shit yet!”

“I want advance payment!” Gladion insists. His walls crumble, his desperation laid out for all to see. “We’ll do something for free. We’ll work twice as hard. We just need the money now. Before I walk out.”

 _Do I even have enough leverage to threaten withdrawing?_ Guzma’s pinning him with a stare that’s either amused or livid. He wishes Guzma had an office, or a study, or any room that could let them talk one-on-one instead of with a screeching audience.

But he’s better off with backup. Being alone in a room with this excuse for a man . . .

“Oh, sure.” Guzma shrugs.

Gladion perks up. “Wh- yes. Good.”

“Ya get paid by job, so watch out for my text,” Guzma goes on, swaggering up to Gladion and extending his hand. “Phone.”

Wordlessly, Gladion hands him his phone. Guzma lifts an eyebrow, and Gladion hopes it’s not because the phone is clearly expensive. With button punches that practically crack the screen, Guzma becomes the first criminal on Gladion’s contact list.

Guzma tosses the phone; Gladion barely catches it. “Who’s got some spare cash for this fine young fella?” Guzma booms. A grunt scurries forward, digging into her pockets, and offers a bundle of gray bills. Guzma makes a great show of counting them out, lips pursed and deliberating, before slapping a pile in Gladion’s hand. “A gift from your new favorite guy,” he snickers. “Remember this. What’s your name, shorty?”

Gladion nearly chokes on his own spit. Guzma just tossed nearly a year’s worth of rent into his hands; he tries not to look so giddy as he stuffs it into his hoodie pocket. “Gladion.”

Guzma’s grin splits his face further. “Oh, ain’t that right. And what about you?” he asks, squinting at Silvia. For the first time, a human being is eye level with her.

“Hi,” she greets quietly.

“Hey.”

“Her name’s Silvia.” Gladion casually sidesteps between them.

“And she don’t battle,” Guzma adds.

“No. Well. Maybe.”

“Better turn that into a yes, Goldilocks. She’s rarin’ to go. Practice on any of the little shits around here; half of them got nothin’ but a lizard for your birdy to squash. ‘Scuse me. Absol.” Guzma chuckles like an approaching thunderstorm. Gladion prays he leaves soon, else he'll end up drowned. “Someone’ll show you to your room.”

“We already have a place on Akala. We won’t stay here.”

“Oh, surely not. Too dumpy for someone of your stature, no?” Guzma rolls his eyes. “I’ll keep it in mind. Watch for my text, Gladiolus. It’ll come soon, for you to earn your keep.”

Finally, mercifully, Guzma turns and swaggers off. He parts the crowd like a Sharpedo, and it closes in his wake. And then he’s gone.

Gladion takes his first breath in what feels like hours. The next is stolen; with a stampede of wet sneakers and glinting eyes, Team Skull surrounds him like a pack of hounds. So many questions crowd his ears at first that he’s sure they’re speaking another language. Silvia keens and sidles into Gladion’s back, nearly knocking him into someone. “Hey, it’s okay!” he assures quickly, reaching for her helmet spike and crowding into her for as much comfort as she gives him.

Then Gladion relearns Idem. “That was so fuckin’ awesome, dude,” one grunt shouts. 

Another cries, “Can I pet your Pokemon? Can I pet her?” 

“Where’d you get her?”

“No one’s ever just demanded money like that, shit! _Holy_ shit!”

“I thought Guzma was gonna fuckin’ kill you, bro.”

“How young are you?”

Gladion doesn’t know who to answer first; he only has two eyes and a mouth, and the amount trained on him outnumber him a hundred to one. “Don’t touch her,” he barks at a couple of grunts that crowd too close to Silvia. “She’s shy with new people.”

“BITCH, SAME,” someone screams from the back.

“ME!” others chorus.

Gladion seriously wonders if he has to get physical when a great white mass shifts into view, and the crowd shrinks back to let him in: Goliath, lumbering forth on heavy footsteps. The grunts near him stagger back with wide eyes, giving him a wide berth. Gladion’s throat dries as the giant bug looms over him. 

Goliath stops before him. “Hello, Goliath,” Gladion says politely. Goliath leans down, the milky dome of his head flashing white; his purple mouthparts chitter, the only movement on his statued face. His ringed antennae swivel forward and wave in Gladion’s direction. 

Silvia shoves forward, head held as high as the helmet’s weight allows. Goliath turns his searching antennae to her, tapping on her mask with the tips. Gladion can see a pair of black mandibles clicking beneath Goliath’s whiskers and tries not to feel so revolted. 

Silvia sniffs him back, and after a moment, relaxes. With a last whirr, Goliath turns and lumbers away; the crowd sweeps into his wake and engulfs them again, eager eyes and hands begging for Silvia.

Gladion taps Silvia’s shoulder with his palm, nudging her backwards. “Let’s leave,” he whispers; she blinks acknowledgement. The sooner they’re away from teenagers of any breed, the better.

Yet as soon as he turns, a pair of grunts bound into his way: Roth and Hibisca, huge grins taking up their faces. “You actually came!” Hibisca shrieks.

“I did,” Gladion answers. 

“And Silvia was awesome!” Roth crows. “She’s so tough — she really took some hits! Those claws Goliath has can smash through _anything.”_

“After all the grief you gave me, I guess that was worth it,” Hibisca sniffs. “Good fucking show.”

Behind him, Silvia starts warbling strangely. Not wanting to find out what that means, Gladion says, “Okay, cool. We have to go.”

“Aww, so soon? Can I pet Silvia first?”

“She’s tired and wants to go home. My Zubat fainted, remember?”

“My sister’s gonna love you for that, little dude. Here, wait, lemme get her so I can introduce-“

“No, no, I want to leave,” Gladion cuts in. “We’re going. Silvia, come on.”

He turns. Silvia isn’t even facing him; her front legs are spread wide, her neck stuck out toward the crowd of grunts pushing toward her. With a stuttered heartbeat, Gladion fears for a second that she’s about to attack someone. Then she cries, “Hii-iii!” and is met with a chorused, “HIIII!” from Team Skull.

“Silvia,” Gladion calls. “Silvia, it’s time to go.”

Silvia starts bouncing on her front legs. “Hi! Hiiii! Wee-EEEE! HIIII!”

Cackling and screaming, everyone in Team Skull imitates her like she’s an act in a concert. Gladion sees phones trained on her and a cold shiver goes down his spine as he realizes they’re being recorded. He reaches up and shakes Silvia’s helmet, pulling on her. “We have to go!”

Silvia tugs her helmet out of his grasp. “Weh-heh-HEH!”

“Silvia, I’m serious!” Some of the grunts who were recording are now typing on their phones, captioning whatever video they took on whatever platform they’re posting it on. He’s lucky if Silvia doesn’t end up all over Chatoter. Fingers fumbling, Gladion reaches for her ball and taps her shoulder with it. “Return.”

Red light envelops Silvia, and instead of vanishing her, stalls. With a lurch of her shoulders and a groan, Silvia shakes off the Pokeball’s recollection light; it leaps off her body and dissipates like steam.

Gladion gapes. _“Silvia!_ Bad girl!”

Silvia pays him zero mind. “HIII! Heeeeeh . . . yeeeee-“

“Wait. Wait, Silvia, don’t-“

“Yooo-ooo!”

Team Skull explodes. Gladion claps his hands over his ears to save his eardrums and narrowly dodges a grunt jumping around. They bounce all over each other in sheer excitement, screaming back, “YOO!” at every decibel. 

“Okay, no, come on.” Gladion seizes hold of Silvia’s helmet and hauls her around, pulling her toward the door. Silvia rasps angrily and digs her claws into the rug. “I know you’re having fun, but we have to take care of Cross, remember? Let’s get out of here!”

Ninety pounds of boy somehow drag a huge Type: Null toward the door, and then through it. “Leave us alone and stop following us,” Gladion snaps as some grunts try to come out after them. He slams the door shut, and finally there is nothing but the rush of falling rain. Water splashes up from the downpour’s force and drenches his ankles; he flips his hood up and tightens it. 

Silvia trots away from him through the mud. “Where do you think you’re going?” Gladion demands, wobbling after her. The rain comes down like a weighted rope across his shoulders. “What was going through your head, not going in your ball like that? These people could be dangerous!”

Silvia turns and trots around him toward the mansion doors, then spins and goes for the hedges again. All the while she mutters under her breath, tinny and echoing, her voice lurching with her grinding mouth. “Whaa-ahhhh,” she croaks. “Hugh ho HO ho hooooo!”

“Tell me all about it,” Gladion mutters, grabbing her helmet spike as she draws close and directing her down the road. She drags her feet halfway through town, head low and gurgling, before stopping in her tracks and nearly toppling Gladion. Her helmet bobs. “Wuuuurgh.”

“Silvia, I am not in the mood.”

_“Wuuuughhhh!”_

“Sure.”

Silvia lurches forward, then enters a brisk trot, swinging her head from side to side. “Skeerrrrrrrr,” she rasps. “Skrauugh!”

“I have never seen you this hyped up,” Gladion admonishes. “Can you walk in a straight line?” As though from spite, Silvia turns and waddles sideways, bobbing her head up and down in heavy swings. “Apparently not.”

They reach the doors eventually, and Gladion has never been happier to leave a place. It feels like escaping Aether again. No grunts guard the outside. Silvia shakes herself in the quieter drizzle misting the air outside of the walls, her legs coated in mud and her feathers dark and slicked to her skin. The blood from her shallow cuts has been washed away. “Are you going to go in your ball now?” Gladion demands.

She spins and canters down the dirt path. “Silvia!” Gladion yells, racing to catch up to her. “Calm down, will you? The battle’s over!”

“Skreeee!” Silvia croaks back. “Skreh. Skreh. Skree! _Skree! SKREE!”_

Gladion plugs his ears. “Silvia.”

_“SKREE! SKREE! SKREE SKREE SKREE!”_

Her screeches are earsplitting, made worse by her metallic mask. Gladion trudges beside her and waits for her to be done, mouth irritably set. When she pauses he turns to her with his eyebrows raised, only for her to start screaming again. “All right.”

The sun, though setting, becomes braver the longer they continue down the path, until dry earth crunches beneath their feet. Silvia quiets down in a couple of minutes, gurgling and chattering to herself under her breath. Gladion sighs in relief and unsticks his drenched hoodie from his body to tie it around his waist, rubbing Silvia’s back.

She refuses to go back in her ball, and so Gladion leads her carefully across evening Ula’ula. She doesn’t stop to sniff everything as Gladion feared, only gazes around with soft snorts and tiredly appreciative eyes. Gladion watches her watch the sunset from a path along Mount Hokulani’s westward face, and feels his frustration with her melt away.

It’s nighttime by the time they trudge into Malie City’s ferry dock and pay their way into a boat with no other nighttime passengers. Silvia stares down the ferry worker taking tallies as she sits in the low Pokemon chair beside Gladion’s, and he snorts when the man scurries away. “Scary,” Gladion mumbles.

Silvia shifts her weight back and forth across her front legs. She leans her helmet close to Gladion and begins to whisper. “Siksiksiksik.”

“Oh no, Silvia,” Gladion whispers back. “Bad girls don’t get kiss-kiss.”

Silvia pauses, then tries again. _“Ksskssksskss.”_

“No. I won’t budge.”

_“Kiss kiss.”_

Gladion nudges her wrist up to his mouth so he can kiss it. “You broke me.” She gurgles happily.

Gladion lets the waves lull him into a doze, his hand on Silvia’s back between her shoulder blades. When a worker gently shakes him awake, he’s contorted sideways in the chair, using the armrest as a pillow. He grunts thankfully and unfurls his sore limbs, yawning, and wakes Silvia. They stumble off the ferry and onto the dock like zombies, Gladion’s eyes puffy, Silvia’s head hanging low.

Again he offers to let her rest in her ball, but she refuses. The walk back up to their motel takes forever and no time at all; every step is an exhausted one, but the time passes like a dream. Gladion can think only of his bed by the time he steps through the nearby Pokecenter’s sliding doors. The light nearly blinds him, above from the bulbs and below from the reflection across every tile. His brain grows heavier. Silvia snorts, blinking. “Bright, huh?”

“You’re out late!” the woman behind the counter says cheerily when she accepts Cross’s ball from Gladion. She eyes Silvia with interest. “Night training?”

 _I joined a gang._ “Something like that,” Gladion mumbles, watching a Zubat symbol blink across the screen behind her, Cross’s ball flashing in the machine.

A sign is on Gladion’s door, and every other motel door, when he finally approaches it. _“PLEASE DO NOT FEED STRAY SNEASEL! ! !”_ it urges, in bold printed font; Gladion glances around for the offending Sneasel’s flashing eyes in the dark as he fishes his key out of his damp pocket.

The motel room’s familiar smell welcomes him, vanilla sugar soap and stale air conditioner. Gladion sighs in relief, trudging to his bed and collapsing on the side. He curls his small body in. “We survived,” he notes. Silvia rests her helmet on the bed beside him and closes her eyes.

Gladion opens Cross’s ball. Cross manifests on Gladion’s chest, lying on his stomach with his wings limp; at the sight of his Trainer he squeaks sharply, beady eyes bright, and rushes to Gladion’s face. “Oh, Cross!” Gladion laughs, eyes squeezed shut as Cross wiggles all over his face in delight. He cups his hands around his Zubat. “Look at you. You did amazing!” Cross squeaks and leans into Gladion’s thumb. “I’m so proud of you. You’re going to be an amazing battler, you know that? We’ll work together, you and I. How does that sound?” Cross flaps his wings in excitement, smacking Gladion’s mouth with the membrane. “Ouch!”

Gladion leans up. “And you,” he accuses; Silvia snorts and lifts her head. “You, you little rascal. I’m talking to you. You were having a good time not listening to me, weren’t you?” Silvia wolf-whistles. “Oh yes, it was a lot of fun, huh? I’ll show you fun.”

He grabs her helmet and wrestles it back and forth. Cross takes off and wheels overhead, squeaking; he darts up and down to snatch at Gladion’s hair with his tiny feet. “What- two against one!” Gladion shoves on Silvia’s helmet, budging her not an inch, until she groans and folds her legs, dramatically rolling onto her side. “Aha! I beat you,” he declares, dropping to the ground beside her and pushing her onto her back. “Is your helmet okay? Is it balanced- okay. RAHH!” He sprawls on her chest between her forelegs, grabbing her helmet between his hands and shaking it. “A Type: Null, defeated! How could this have happened!”

Silvia paddles her legs in the air weakly, tapping her claws against Gladion’s back. Her neck bulges as she lifts her helmet enough to look at Gladion. “Hi,” she whispers, then plunks her mask back onto the floor. “Hi.”

“Hi. I love you,” Gladion whispers back.

“Hi hi hi,” she says.

“Aww, are you sleepy? You had-“

“Hi!” Silvia says, with sudden energy. She struggles to get up, rolling back and forth, the two helmet spokes she balances on banging against the rug. “You!”

“What?” A ghost of movement draws Gladion’s eye. There’s a woman, standing at the door, in his room, staring at him.

Gladion scrambles off of Silvia and onto his feet. The woman tilts her head. She looks like a punk who lives a couple of doors down, but with marginally stupider hair; it’s divided into four pigtails, two pink and two yellow, that spring from her head like the leaves of an Exeggutor. Her pale yellow eyes look bored. Generous swaths of brown skin gleam between strands of black fabric crisscrossing her body.

Gladion demands, “Who are you!” in a stammer that sounds more like, “Hooayew!”

The woman crosses her arms. “Relax. I’m from Team Skull.”

“What are you doing in my room?” Gladion interrupts, with more force and clarity. Silvia finally heaves herself onto her side and then to her feet behind him, sniffing the air.

The woman shrugs. “Your door was open.” She saunters to the chair in the middle of the room and sits; Gladion notices the Pokemon curled around her ankles as she follows her, a sleek black creature with a violently purple underbelly. The Salazzle rests her head on the woman’s lap, her long body sprawled across Gladion’s floor; she blinks lazily in Gladion’s direction.

“I’m Plumeria,” the woman says, rubbing the back of her Salazzle’s head. “This is Sally. What’s your name?”

Gladion feels peeved enough to lie, but figures he’s been using his real name all day anyway. “Gladion. This is Silvia, and Cross.”

Plumeria’s eyes widen at the circling Cross. “Oh, cool. I have a Golbat named Zuby, hang on.” Unprompted, she raises a Pokeball from her pocket and clicks it. A Golbat springs to form on the ground before her, hunched so the fur on its bristly back sticks out like quills. It turns its squashed, folded face in Gladion’s direction and blinks small black eyes. Cross squeaks in excitement, fluttering all around it, and drops onto its back to begin furiously grooming between its shoulder blades.

“I didn’t ask,” Gladion says nastily. 

“No, and I didn’t need you to,” Plumeria answers easily. “Listen. My little brats said you were only eleven years old. Is that true?”

“Yes.”

“And you just joined Team Skull.”

“Lots of people seem hung up on how young I am. Why does it matter?”

“Because a literal crime gang is the last place for a preteen,” Plumeria deadpans. Her phone buzzes from her pocket. “I’m the Team Skull Admin, and I take care of the whole crew. Where’s your family? Is this where you live?”

“None of your business. Get out before I have Silvia make you. How did you even find where I was?”

“I followed you here.”

“From . . . the mansion?”

“Yup.”

“Wait, you followed me on the ferry? You- That’s stalking! That’s so weird!”

Plumeria shrugs. Her phone buzzes again; she takes it out of her pocket to press something, then puts it back. She glances around his room, at the well-worn bed and potted cactuses on the windowsills, at the stacks of magazines and DVDs piled on every shelf, at the mini stovetop oven next to the microwave and fridge. “So you live here.”

“Fine. Yes.”

“Where are your parents?”

“Dead.”

“So who do you live with?”

“No one. I don’t need anyone.”

“How long have you been living on your own?”

“Look, I’m not telling you any more than you need to know. I don’t want to talk to you. I want you to leave.”

Sally starts creeping around Gladion’s room, her long, forked tongue curling out to inspect. Gladion glares as she crawls nearby, muttering, “Hello, Sally.” She blinks lazily, then climbs up on his bed. Gladion doesn’t know how to stop her. 

“I don’t know what happened,” Plumeria murmurs, “and I know you don’t want to talk to a stranger. But I worry when someone as young as you — and yes, that matters — joins a gang like Team Skull. I want to make sure you’re all right.”

Gladion crosses his arms. “Well, I’m fine.”

“Tell me why you’re living alone.”

“Parents . . . died in a . . . car crash.”

“That’s fake as hell, kid.”

“Okay.”

Plumeria’s phone buzzes, then doesn’t stop. She rolls her eyes and holds it up to her ear. “Stop.”

_“WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU!”_

Gladion jumps; it sounds like Guzma is in the room with them, with how loud he shouted.

Plumeria inspects her nails, pursing her lips. “Out.”

_“IF YOU DON’T GET BACK WITHIN LIKE TWO-“_

“Hey hey hey, I’m out on business. I’ll be back in a bit.”

_“I DIDN’T SAY YOU COULD LEAVE.”_

“What are you, my dad? I’m talking to the new kid.”

_“HEHE I COULD B- wait, that fuckin’ edgelord with the quote-unquote Absol? Why?”_

“Because for some reason, you let an eleven-year-old join a gang. Stop blowing up my phone.”

 _“BIT-“_

Plumeria taps to end the call and locks her phone. “Anyway.”

“Anyway, leave.”

“I’m like the big sister to everyone in Team Skull, you know?” Plumeria goes on, as if he hadn’t spoken. “I have two actual siblings, but I guess I adopted everyone else too. So when someone so young comes around, it’s my responsibility to look after you. If you won’t tell me anything, at least get my number. I’m there if you need anything.”

Gladion feels rather gratified, but not enough to regret being rude. “All right, fine.”

He hands over his phone when she walks over. As she punches it in, Silvia waddles around Gladion and into her space, helmet hovering near her head to sniff. Plumeria leans away. “What Pokemon is this?”

“A nunya.”

“A nunya?”

“Nunya business, give me my phone.” Gladion tries not to smirk as he takes his phone back. “If that’s all you needed, you can go.”

“Oooh, aren’t you funny. I’ll be in touch, and don’t hesitate to call or text if you need anything. Ula’ula’s just a Charizard away. But before I go-“ Gladion groans. “-let me just check . . .” Plumeria saunters up to his store-bought shelves and rifles through them. “You got enough food?”

“What? Yes.”

“Your Pokemon too? That big one must need a lot of food. Boy, right?”

“Girl.”

“Girl?” Plumeria leans to squint at Silvia’s backside. “She doesn’t look like a girl.”

“Can you not ogle my Pokemon?” Gladion demands, stepping between them. “She has weird biology.”

Plumeria starts opening his drawers, ignoring him. “You got a first aid kit? Just in case you get scraped up. And laundry costs money too, right? Do you need change for that, because I’ve got some on me-“

“No! I am fine. I would appreciate it if you got out.”

Plumeria straightens up, staring at his bed. Sally’s curled on the end and dozing. “Are you sleeping enough? It’s a bit late for you to be up, don’t you think?”

_Isn’t it late for you to be up? My little busybody. Always on the hunt for something to conquer._

Gladion’s heart gives a little lurch. He wills his mother’s voice away. “Y-Yes. I was about to go to sleep,” he answers meekly.

Plumeria smiles, probably because it’s the first time Gladion didn’t snap at her. Gladion looks at the bare skin of her shoulder and then down her arm and midsection and suddenly wonders how warm she is, and what she smells like, and if curling up at her side with his face in her skin would be weird, would be at all like when he was younger and Mother more sane-

His stomach lurches. Smiles hide cruelty; he cannot be looking for some maternal figure in a gang member. _Ugly ugly ugly._

“Good. I’ll leave you to it and _finally_ get out of your room,” Plumeria drawls, recalling Zuby to its ball; Cross squeaks in distress at the loss of his new friend. She shuts his sock drawer neatly and shoots an impatient look at Sally, who oozes off the bed and slithers to her owner. “Take it easy, Gladion. Remember you’ve got my number, all right? Even the littlest thing.”

“I got it.”

Plumeria waves as she leaves. Gladion deflates as the door shuts, his fatigue returning in full force. Silvia’s head droops and nearly hits the floor. “Bedtime for you. Bedtime for me.” He goes around making sure his stuff is in order. Despite Plumeria’s meddling, nothing is out of place.

He stalls at his desk, playing with a corner of a piece of paper as he mulls. Plenty of people have shown concern for him and his youth, but no one quite like that. No one quite like her.

Gladion throws his clothes off and scrubs the white into his teeth before his mirror, raging internally at a world that hurts Pokemon and corrupts mothers and forces kids to run away before they can notice they’re forgotten.

He peeks at his phone, at the text Plumeria sent herself from it to get his number. He clicks on his his contacts and stares at the five names there. There have never been so many.

—

The first thing Gladion does with his new money is pay rent for the next month, and the second is divvy up the rest to make sure he has enough for necessities. Between himself and his Pokemon, he’s set for a couple of months at least. The relief is thick enough to be sliced and sold as insulation; Gladion spends hours lounging in bed, getting used to the cavity within that once housed immediate panic. He feels like he could nap for days.

He keeps his eyes peeled for a text from Guzma, but all that buzzes in is a deluge of notifications from a dozen Team Skull groupchats he’s suddenly a part of. He leaves each as soon as he’s added, cursing whoever might be doing this (his money’s on Plumeria trying to get him to be social). “Daily doggy pics” is the first, followed by “TOP TEN ANIME DEATHS (SICK BATTL STORIES)” and “GUZMERIA COFNIRMED!!!!!!!!!!” The only one that grabs his attention is called “Type strategies,” but the chat had devolved into reaction pictures by the time Gladion was added.

On the final battle of a decade-old Netflix anime, Gladion’s phone buzzes. He tries to pretend he wasn’t close to tears, even if no one’s around to see him.

 **From: Hibisca (Team Skull)**  
-WHY ARE YOU LEAVING OUR GROUPCHATS WE WERE WELCOMING YOU OMG  
-WE WOULDA MADE IT PG AND EVERYTHING  
-pg13  
-wait youre 12 right?  
-FUCK YOURE 11  
-either way wtf  
-im gonna make a chat about silvia and im not gonna invite you

 **From: (Unknown Number)**  
-Hi!!!!! this is Roth!! from team skull  
-I hope Hibbie isn’t bothering you too much!!!  
-She doesn’t actually know how to add people to groupchats so dont worry about the Silvia thing

Silvia, behind Gladion and equally invested in the anime, rumbles, questioning what the racket is. “I’m this close to blocking them. _This_ close, Silvia.”

 **From: ya big bad boss**  
-yo

Gladion is halfway through typing a plea to stop sending texts for the next hour at least before he realizes he’s not talking to Roth or Hibisca. His heart jumps to the roof.

 **From: ya big bad boss**  
-ready to earn your keep?

 **To: Guzma**  
-What do I need to do?

 **From: Guzma**  
-route 6 right by u. couple of kids think they can save alola from Team Skull by challengin everyone in a black shirt  
-go make em regret it  
-last seen by the royal dome  
-one of ems got a magmar and the others got a shitty haircut

 **To: Guzma**  
-Got it.

 **From: Guzma**  
-bring the magmar back and ill give ya even more compensation  
-try not to get caught its a public area and ull give me bad press

 **To: Guzma**  
-Understood.

 **From: Guzma**  
-can u try not to be such a soldier good god

Gladion doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he locks his phone. He grabs Silvia’s wrist as it creeps across his lap toward the space bar on his laptop. “Wait! I’m not ready! Hon, that was Guzma. He says there’s someone nearby we need to battle. Cross, you hearing this?” He pokes gently at his hair and feels Cross twitch awake. “This is going to be another major battle. This is for the money we got when we saw Team Skull. Do you feel up for it?”

Cross flaps into the air and wheels in excited circles, squeaking. He flies high, tips, and executes a clumsy barrel roll, nearly crashing into the corner of Gladion’s bed in enthusiasm. “Good. And you?” Gladion asks, looking at Silvia.

She smashes his space bar with a growl. “Silvia! Bad!”

He shuts his laptop and slides it under his bed, hopping out to avoid Silvia’s outrage. His phone buzzes; he brings it to his nose and groans.

 **From: Hibisca (Team Skull)**  
-ur gonna have to be social sooner or later like  
-LMAO WERE A GANG BUT LIKE WERE CHILL AND WE TALK TO EACH OTHER honestly we all mush  
-u realize socialization is good for a young boi’s development?????????????  
-ur gonna be stunted  
-yo answer meee  
-ur gonna grow up to be the crazy cat man  
-ur gonna live under a bridge and be the bridge goblin  
-WHEN I SEE YOU NEXT IM GONNA MAKE U TALK TO MORE THAN TWO PEOPLE

“Why does she even care,” Gladion grunts.

He thinks about it. He thinks about taking down some walls, exchanging words further than terse pleasantries and warnings. He thinks about finding some people more agreeable than others, talking to them and not minding it, telling them things and not minding it . . .

Like about Aether, or his mother, or Silvia’s actual nature. He crams those thoughts back somewhere they can’t plague him. If making friends carries that kind of danger, he’s better off without them. 

——

When Gladion gets to Route 6, he finds it sparsely populated and breathes a sigh of relief. A pair of older golfers stroll by and a girl sits under a tree with a Lillipup, but otherwise no trouble is at hand. Gladion slows to a casual walk and tries not to look suspicious peering around for a Magmar and a shitty haircut.

Birds sing out strongly from the trees, and a Yungoos sniffs in Gladion’s direction from beneath a fern before scampering off. Gladion paces back and forth for a while, at a loss. He glances back at the two golfers. They look a little old for causing trouble with a gang.

Gladion nudges Cross, on his shoulder, with his chin. “They might have left already,” he observes. “I’m . . . not sure what to tell Guzma.”

Cross nips his jaw, not unkindly, then grows still, his round ears pointed up. “What is it, boy?” Cross waddles around until he faces the woods and sings out a chorus of sharp chirps, ears pointed forward to hear the sound waves bouncing back. Gladion listens too, and his eyes widen; a pair of voices waft through the trees from a deer trail he previously wrote off. “Good job, Cross!”

The wind quiets down as Gladion creeps down the trail, peering between the trees. He sees movement, falters, then just figures he’ll be seen soon anyway. His footsteps grow bolder.

In a little clearing sits a pair of older teens, a boy and a girl, huddled close and whispering. Gladion has little time to study them, for they turn at the sound of his footsteps. “Uh, hello?” the boy asks.

One doesn’t have a shitty haircut. They both do.

“Are you the ones giving Team Skull trouble?” Gladion says.

“Who’s asking?” the girl snaps.

Gladion puts his hands on his hips. “A Team Skull enforcer.” 

“A whaaaat,” the girl drawls, as the boy bursts into hysterical laughter. “You’re like five years old.”

Gladion has no time nor mood for being ridiculed. He tosses Silvia’s ball through the air and out she comes; seven feet of black muscle and gray feathers, topped by her sharp, grotesque helmet. The teens shrink back, jaws slack. _That’s what I thought._

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stop messing with Team Skull,” Gladion warns.

“F-Fuck that!” the girl yells. “You assholes steal Pokemon! If I see you shitheads on the street, of course I’m gonna go after you!”

Gladion spreads his arms. Compared to Guzma, these two are nothing. “Okay then. Go after me.”

Silvia slams her claw in the forest floor, shaking the earth beneath them. In her eyes Gladion sees a determination most fierce.

——

When Guzma looks up at them approaching, he scowls. “Why’s it out of its ball, then?”

Gladion shakes the rain out of his hair, his bare arms soaked and chilled. The Magmar beside him quakes, water running down her leathery skin. Gladion tried to shield her from the rain in Po Town as much as possible, but his hoodie could only do so much draped over her lumpy face. “She didn’t want to stay in her ball. She was too nervous.”

Guzma grunts, stalking across the mansion foyer toward them. A couple of chatting grunts scamper out of his way. “Whatever. How’d it go?”

“Perfectly.” The Magmar was the only Pokemon the two teens had, and she was freshly caught and didn’t listen to either of them. It was easy for Silvia to cow her into running away into the forest, and for Cross to snatch her Pokeball out of the girl’s hands. Then as Silvia bellowed and stampeded after the two running teens, Gladion coaxed the Magmar out of hiding and spent over an hour calming her down. Soon she liked him better than she ever did her two trainers. She spent most of the walk to Po Town puffing out little bursts of fire for the others’ amusement.

She shrinks into Gladion’s side as Guzma looms over them. Gladion wraps an arm around her bulky haunches and scratches her saggy scales. “Don’t worry,” he murmurs, worrying himself. He says louder to Guzma, “What are you going to do with her?”

“Sell her if someone wants her. Gimme the ball.”

Gladion meekly hands it over. To his surprise, Guzma holds it limp in his hand and raises an eyebrow at the Magmar. “Don’t wanna go in?”

The Magmar croaks and lowers her head. “Fair enough,” Guzma grunts. “Go over there, and those people will dry you off. You’re all right.”

Gladion, shocked but pleased, rubs her neck and nudges her in the direction of the grunts Guzma indicated. She glances around in distress, but meekly plods to do as she’s told. 

Guzma hurls the Magmar’s Pokeball at the grunts and barks orders at them as Gladion watches anxiously on. “How exactly do you sell them?” he asks.

“Craigslist.”

“Are you serious?”

Guzma rolls his eyes so hard he looks like he’s trying to shake them out of his head. “The people who want some stolen Pokemon are gonna know where to find the people who sell stolen Pokemon. Sorry if I don’t feel comfortable tellin’ a new recruit the ins an’ outs of my illegal operation here.”

Gladion feels dumb for asking about something he feels too young for, but won’t admit it. He changes the subject. “You don’t let them go anywhere bad, do you?”

“What, like a fighting ring or something? Do I look that goddamn sleazy?” Guzma demands. “Don’t worry your pretty little head. This is as ethical as stealin’ Pokemon gets.”

Gladion wants to doubt him. He wants to yell at those two teenagers for not protecting their Pokemon better. He wants to open a Pokemon shelter, and he kind of wants to adopt that Magmar. He settles for greed. “You said you’d pay me for getting her.”

“Oh, sure sure. Lemme open the bank vault.” Guzma stalks off toward the stairs, ascending three steps at a time with little effort. 

Gladion glances around the foyer. The grunts jumping all around the Magmar have led her into another room, leaving him alone. Safe from prying eyes and phone cameras, Gladion reaches into his pocket and brings out Silvia’s ball.

She manifests next to him, sitting pliantly. Silvia utters an, “Ooh!” at her new surroundings, tipping her helmet up to sniff. She glances at Gladion. “Hiii-ii!”

“Hiii-ii,” Gladion mimics, reaching up to rub her shoulders, in a pattern so well-worn that his hands know the steps without pause. Her lower eyelids drift up like she’s smiling, and it makes Gladion smile too. His heart stutters with love. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Okay!” Silvia replies cheerily.

“Wow! That’s a new one,” Gladion gasps. “You’re learning faster and faster, huh?”

“Haah? Okay!” Silvia chirps. She turns her head to stare down Guzma, who slows as he returns from the stairs. “Okay?”

“O . . . kay.” Guzma leans away from Silvia and holds out a stack of gray money. “Fuck it, I didn’t count that. Spend it on your freakazoid.”

“Her name is Silvia,” Gladion replies testily, grabbing the money with a little unnecessary force. Again it’s enough to make Gladion choke on his own spit. He’s just glad there’s no audience this time; he can get used to this.

“Maybe I wasn’t talking about her. Maybe I was talking about your bitchass hair,” Guzma grumbles, throwing a hand up and letting it fall. “Scram.”

“Okay!” Silvia agrees.

“Okay,” Gladion agrees, and pauses. “Can’t you tell me anything more about what happens to these Pokemon?”

Guzma stares down at him, his expression unreadable; Gladion’s hackles raise. Something about the scars, or maybe Guzma’s general face shape, makes it look like that of a bug; all the right parts are there individually, but they don’t seem to make sense together, and the longer Gladion stares the more sure he is something will jump out at him. “I told you not to worry,” Guzma rumbles, and he smiles; the way his mouth ripples across his face scrambles his features even more. “But who knows. Maybe you’ll find out someday soon.”

The words bounce around Gladion’s head and he backs away, taking it as a threat to Silvia. Silvia stands, sensing tension, and rumbles at Guzma. 

“Relax.” Guzma straightens his back, neck still jerked forward, and crosses his arms. “I’m not interested in . . . that.”

“She,” Gladion insists, “and I, will be going now. Thank you for the money.”

Guzma doesn’t respond, even when they turn toward the door. Gladion can feel his eyes boring holes in his back.

——-

Gladion squints as the Pokecenter’s bright light bounces off the tiles beneath his feet, the door whooshing open to let them in. “You can get one thing. _One_ thing, I mean it this time,” he orders to Silvia beside him. She rasps an ugly-sounding whinny and waddles away to the treat aisle, claws and paws kicking up.

Gladion yawns as he stalks through the shelves, hands in his pockets and eyes avoiding the garish advertisements sure to seduce his impulse to spoil his two Pokemon. Cross doesn’t need a hanging silk nest, he knows that, but it doesn’t stop him from wanting it.

He hefts a bag of chow into a cart and wheels it down the toys aisle, browsing for something to replace the rubber ball Silvia had finally stomped to pieces. Cross wiggles out of his hoodie pocket and shrinks back as the fluorescent light hits him, peeping weakly. “I know, baby,” Gladion murmurs, reaching in to hold his bat’s tiny body. “Stay where it’s dark. Here, want some beanies? What flavor? One for no, two for yes.”

Gladion whispers the flavors — Tauros, Miltank, and Mudsdale — and listens to Cross’s squeaks for his favorite, eventually settling on some Miltank bean-shaped blood packets. “You stay in there,” Gladion scolds, dropping the packages into his shopping cart so Cross doesn’t scramble onto it. “This is for home, and you can sip on it all night and have a nice nap.”

Groceries done, Gladion looks around for Silvia and whatever she might drag up to him. The cashier line looks long, so he gets on it and taps around on his phone while he waits for her to emerge from the shelves.

As he glances up to look for Silvia, another Pokemon attracts his eye. By the wall near the kennels leans a young man, and next to him is a Riolu. The little Pokemon’s head hangs low, its tail tucked between its hind legs; its owner looks bored.

Something doesn’t sit right about it, and it piques Gladion’s curiosity the whole time he’s on line. After he pays for his things, he lets his feet carry him near them. 

The young man looks up at his approach as though he was waiting for them. “Hey!” he calls; he doesn’t look older than 25. “Hey, kid. You’ve got some cool stuff in there. You got big Pokemon?” He gestures at the chow bag. 

“I do,” Gladion replies warily.

“Want my Riolu?” the man asks.

“What?”

“My Riolu. I mean, I’m trying to give it away. I only want, like, ten bucks for it.”

Taken aback, Gladion glances down at the Pokemon in question. Its ovular ears would reach no higher than his waist, were they erect and not flattened back against its neck. Its black nose twitches wetly. Gladion peers at the black markings surrounding its eyes; the fur beneath them glistens, and he realizes that the Riolu is crying.

His face turns hot. “Why are you giving it away?”

The man shrugs. “I wanted a Lucario, but I can’t get this one to evolve. I don’t know, it’s just not working out for me. It’s a nice little guy, I mean, it’s never bitten anyone or caused trouble. This just isn’t what I wanted.”

Gladion squats down to the Riolu’s eye level. Its red eyes bulge, the whites showing, then squeeze shut. “What’s its name?”

“I didn’t name it. I just called it Riolu.”

Gladion instantly hates this man. “Boy or girl?”

“I don’t know.”

The rage he feels makes him dizzy. “So instead of figuring out what’s wrong or giving it to the center, you’re just trying to sell it to anyone who passes by?”

“Well, yeah,” the man says. He glances at the counter. “It’s technically not against the rules. But they don’t pay you for donating a Pokemon, so I’d get nothing out of it. Man, those ladies behind the desk over there have been giving me the evil eye all day.”

Gladion stands and steps away from the Riolu, not wanting to scare it more. He already knows what he’s going to do when he glares up at its owner. “Do you realize these Pokemon evolve only when they form a strong bond?” he demands. He has to school himself to keep his voice even. “This is a baby. You’re supposed to be like its parent. Why would a Riolu _ever_ evolve if you don’t even name it or know its gender?”

“Dude. Relax, I’m-“

“No, _shut_ up,” Gladion snaps; Cross starts fidgeting in his pocket. “If you can’t take care of a Pokemon, you should never have gotten it. What, because you think Lucarios are _cool?_ And you’re putting this cub through abandonment and- and moving homes because you’re disappointed in its performance or something? That’s disgusting, and so are you.”

“Good god, kid-“

“Just shut up already.” His breath whooshes out of him, then in, then out. It feels like someone’s pressing on his breastbone. He squats again in front of the Riolu; bizarrely, he thinks of Guzma. “Hey,” he croons, the fire gone from his voice. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s just me.”

The Riolu peeks up at him. Its muzzle wrinkles, and its chest jumps with a tiny sob. “My name is Gladion. Do you want to come home with me?”

Every blue hair on the Riolu’s body trembles; it wrings its paws together, its overgrown claws clacking. Its lips are pulled back until its little mouth is tense and wrinkled. The black nodes on either side of its head twitch, then lift as though polarized by a magnet. There’s a sound like something heavy swinging through the air, and suddenly Gladion’s brain flutters; scenes play like a dozen movies put on fast forward, images Gladion knows well but isn’t sure he recalled on his own.

The Riolu’s nodes fall back against its cheeks. Entire body shaking, it reaches up with both paws. Gladion wraps his arms around it and lifts it against his chest, cradling its slight weight close; it buries its face in his neck, wetting Gladion’s throat with tears. “It’s okay,” he croons, stroking its furry shoulders. “Let’s go home.”

The man steps forward. “Hey, that’s not free.”

“Oh, yes it is,” Gladion snaps. “I’m not paying you a cent. You don’t deserve money for abandoning a baby Pokemon.” He spins on his heel and marches away, the fire in his chest hot enough to rival the warmth generated by Riolu’s shaking. He hears the man say something, hears him start after Gladion-

-until Silvia steps out from behind a shelf, swinging her great head in his direction. She plods to Gladion, metallic breath whooshing, the floor shaking beneath each of her heavy footsteps. 

Gladion senses the man back off. _Good._

“Come on,” Gladion growls. He hefts the feed bag onto her broad back. Silvia squawks at the Riolu and drops what’s in her claw, a plush Passimian. “I’ll buy that for you later.”

He speeds out of the Pokecenter on stiff legs, rage carrying him quick. The Riolu whimpers, burying its face in his throat further. “Shh shh,” Gladion whispers, stroking the back of its neck. “Everything’s going to be okay. I’ll take care of you.”

As he fiddles with his motel key, Silvia stops her anxious rumbling and whistles. Gladion glances over his shoulder, and at first he sees nothing; then, below some bushes across the parking lot, a pair of yellow eyes glint in the dark.

Gladion bites his lip, unlocking his door and letting his Pokemon in. Cross wiggles out of his pocket and starts wheeling in circles, peeping, and Silvia goes immediately for the bed. The Riolu he gingerly sets down beside him, holding its paw like it’s a small child.

Again he already knows what he’s going to do. He turns to the open doorway. “Want to come in?” he calls quietly, his voice carrying over the pavement, through the dark.

The eyes under the bushes blink, then disappear. Darkness shifts across the lot. Gladion steps to the side; a little black shadow no bigger than his shoes streaks into his room and under the bed in a flash.

Gladion closes the door and leads the Riolu to the chair, sitting it up and tilting its snout to the ceiling. A cursory examination reveals it’s a boy, a little on the thin side, and not well-groomed. Anger pulses in Gladion’s temples, but doesn’t show on his face; the last thing this Riolu needs is more fear.

Gladion keeps holding the Riolu’s paw. His padded claws flex in his hand. “It’s okay to be scared,” he murmurs. “You remember my name? It’s Gladion. Do you have a name?”

The Riolu’s wet eyes blink slowly, and he wags his head no. “Would you like me to give you a name?” He blinks again, and nods once. “Okay. I’ll think of some names, and you tell me which one you like best. How does that sound?”

The cub trembles harder. He leans forward and sniffs Gladion’s face, his teeth parting to give Gladion’s nose a little lick. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

He doesn’t want to force the Riolu to be near him, so he drags Silvia’s unused bed into a corner and bundles a spare blanket into it. He tucks the Riolu in, rubbing his skull between his ears. “Be good.” The pup whines, the tip of his tail fluttering once.

Gladion peeks under his bed, phone flashlight on. The sleek, silvery fur of a Sneasel meets his eyes first, then its round, glowing eyes, staring back at him. “Do you want to come out and say hello? If not, that’s all right. Behave, all right?”

Leaving Cross in charge, Gladion drags Silvia off the bed and back outside with him, promising her the Passimian she was denied. As he closes the door behind him, the gravity of his choices in the past hour hit him. The amount of Pokemon in his care has doubled. He just hopes he isn’t in over his head.

He took in two Pokemon in need, practically handed to him on his doorstep. How many more wait in the next town, the next island, the next continent? He shudders under the weight of the world.

——-

The Riolu spends the first night crying in the bathtub with the curtain drawn. Gladion cannot coax him out with food nor water, and hears his little yelping sobs all night.

The Sneasel makes no appearance that night either, aside from its glowing eyes looming out of the dark should Gladion peer under his bed. He leaves food out for it and litters the ground with little toys from his shopping spree before sleeping.

When he awakens the next morning, a little ball of silvery fur pulses with breath at the end of his bed. He wakes it with a little nudge; the Sneasel unfurls and rolls onto its back, paws up and sickle-like claws out playfully. It’s a she, and young — young enough that she warms to him immediately, rubbing her long, blocky muzzle against his hand and stretching her weasel-like body. Her close-set eyes, round ears, and tufts of red feathers tucked behind her left ear and sprouting from her backside are the cutest things he’s ever seen. 

She frosts again when Gladion drops her in the tub for a flea bath, meowing piteously and gripping his sleeve with her claws the whole ordeal. She tears back and forth across the room once dried as Gladion gives the Riolu the same treatment, rubbing down the cub’s body with sudsy fingers. Names float through his head, and he tries some as he works.

Steel is what the Riolu likes best, conveyed through another odd lifting of the black nodes on either side of his head, bringing a sudden conviction in Gladion’s brain that Steel is a handsomer and stronger name than what the little pup had ever anticipated. 

The Sneasel proves more difficult, especially when Gladion realizes her grasp of Idem is shaky at best. She gives no answer to his questions, only perking up when he mentions food. Reminding himself to check with her once she learns enough Idem to understand him, he begins calling her Usagi, after his favorite character of all time.

He spends the entire day taking care of them, stroking Steel’s ears as he feeds him, playfully chasing Usagi up and down the furniture. Cross makes quick friends with them, dropping onto their fur and licking busily to clean every inch of them. Silvia remains on the bed, watching every going-on with wide eyes. She quivers with excitement when Steel nervously glances her way, or when Usagi scrambles onto the corner of the bed before leaping off, but makes no move to crowd them. Gladion gets her another Passimian for being so good.

“That’s Silvia,” he tells them. “I know she looks a little scary, but she’s very nice. She’ll be your friend too.”

The second night, Gladion nestles up to Silvia’s belly and closes his eyes. “I’m sorry we didn’t go outside that much today,” he tells her, and smiles at her answering rumble. “You’re my good girl. Do you mind me giving them so much attention? I don’t mean to neglect you.” Her wrists bend, her claws skating up and down his back clumsily. “Okay, okay.”

He glances over his shoulder. Steel and Usagi sleep curled up in the spare blanket, their little bed dragged to the corner by Gladion’s. Cross sleeps above them on his wall perch, crouched upside-down against a strip of upholstery for gripping. Gladion’s heart seizes.

“I feel like a dad sometimes,” he admits to Silvia. “I really like it, too. I really enjoy doing this. I want to fill this room with Pokemon to take care of.”

Silvia sighs sleepily, a little hum issuing from her throat. “Think I could do it?” Gladion asks; Silvia croons. “You’d be with me, of course. We could do it together.” She tightens the grip she has on him with her forelegs, squeezing him. He drapes his arm across her ribs and closes his eyes, cheek smushed against her chest. “You and me.”

Ideas for Aether, a better Aether, wait for him in sleep.

——

He dreams of the thunderstorm that rocked Aether nearly side to side. Lillie slept all through the night, but Gladion stayed awake, gripping his mother like a lifeline. He remembers only snatches of her: the shallow wrinkles around her mouth and eyes as she smiled; the milky paleness of her wrist beneath his fingers; the warmest spot of her nightshirt. She pressed her thumb to his lips, and her lips to his hair. _Nothing can take you away from me,_ she whispered. _No storm, no wave. You have nothing to fear._

In her arms, he slept without dreams.

——-

Gladion sees the Battle Royal Dome a few times before the first time he ventures in. The plaza before it is usually so packed that his gorge rises at the thought of slipping through that many people. 

He went in on a whim one morning, when the entrance wasn’t nearly as clogged as usual. He heard the rules, and it was perfect. He entered the stadium, and though the crowd’s roar pressed in, they felt distant in the stands. And in a minute or two, Silvia dispatched a Gligar, a Lapras, and a Fearow in her first-ever stadium battle.

She stood, dazed, as cameras flashed and people cheered high up all around her. Gladion watched them and felt his heart gallop, but his hands were clenched in fists. Maybe it was the rush of easily winning an intimidating battle; what could stand in their way if three Pokemon at once couldn’t take Silvia down? Maybe it was how Gladion’s voice grew in strength with every order he shouted to her. Maybe it was the many-throated cheering directed at Silvia and him. Whatever it was, it emboldened him like nothing else. Let them see her. Let them come and try to take her away. Gladion was in Team Skull now, an enforcer. In that spiteful moment, he hoped it would make the news. He hoped his mother would see and grit her teeth and pull her hair like she always did when her helplessness pressed in.

He only regretted it later, and panicked about foolishly putting Silvia in the spotlight. But days passed, and no one came. 

They kept going back for more. The payoff for winning was steep, and constant. What Silvia lacked in strategy and finesse, she made up for in brute strength and the ability to weather any attack with nary a scratch. She was a rockslide bearing down on saplings.

Silvia’s potential is enormous, but she’s severely untrained. She only wins because nothing can match her strength and gameness, and sustains countless little nicks barreling through opponents. Nursing a healthy fear of what a Pokemon Center’s healing machine will do to her, Gladion treats her minor injuries with cream, bandages, and plenty of kisses.

Alone Silvia is a hurricane, but in double battles with Cross she’s unstoppable. Any Trainer foolish enough to challenge Gladion on a route swiftly learns that. The little bat can’t go up against an opponent heavier than he, and even drew a few incredulous laughs in his first appearances beside Silvia. But his dramatic flair, with his elaborate screeches and swoops, serves as a perfect distraction to draw the opponents’ attention away before Silvia plows into them from behind. He also perfects an odd echolocation attack, one that can see an opponent that’s keen of hearing curled on the ground covering its ears in seconds. 

Soon enough, few of the Akala regulars want to mess with the blond boy in black clothing, forever stalking to his destination beside a hulking, masked beast. The ones that do still approach use him as a test to see how far they’ve come since the last battle.

With the pocket change he earns from a good battle, Gladion buys beans.

Sitting at the edge of the clearing he and Silvia first played in, on a pile of planks worryingly left there by parties unknown, Gladion waves a wrapped package of bean-shaped insect treats. “First to catch the ball gets a bean.”

He nods at Steel, sitting beside him. The black nodes on the sides of Steel’s head lift, and he raises his paws with pads inward. Between them a vaporous blue ball forms, wisps of sapphire energy folding over and around themselves in an ever-churning globe.

Steel’s red eyes glance at Gladion. “Very good,” Gladion assures, his voice soft. “Now avoid them as best you can.”

Steel turns to his siblings. Silvia stands facing them, attention rapt; Cross hovers in a figure-eight, squealing in anticipation; and Usagi bats around a blade of grass with her pale claws, distracted.

Steel wiggles the aura ball through the air, back and forth, alerting the first two and attracting Usagi’s attention. All three lunge at it together; Steel, with a jerk of his chin, sends the ball flying upward and over their heads, leading the three in a wild chase around the clearing.

Gladion sits back and watches his Pokemon go wild, eyes carefully on each one. Silvia hunts the aura ball with singular obsession, her wide eyes never leaving it, but her awkward, stiff gait renders her footfalls clumsy; her back paw lands on her left hallux and she stumbles badly. Cross wheels and zip through the air, tracking it relentlessly with echolocation and his winged advantage. Usagi makes a valiant effort to keep up for a few seconds before a Ledyba that had foolishly flitted too far into the clearing catches her attention, and she goes tumbling off after it.

Gladion glances at Steel. The Riolu watches unblinkingly, manipulating the ball with twitches of his eyes and sensors. His lips lift and bare puppy teeth in concentration. The exercise not only tests his Pokemon’s speed and reflexes, but Steel’s ability to control aura.

When he asked the two who would be interested in battling, Usagi appeared interested but Steel did not, though he nodded. Gladion sat him down and asked him if he genuinely wanted to out of interest, not obligation. Steel hung his head, then shook it. Once again, Gladion fought down the urge to hunt down Steel’s original owner and kill him. Forcing a present and a future on a Pokemon who clearly had no say in the matter makes him want to froth at the mouth.

Steel swerves the aura ball away from Silvia’s lunge, but Cross swoops in from the other side. The ball shakes like a flailing hand trying not to smack something, wobbling with Steel’s indecisiveness, before shooting directly upward. His hesitation cost him; in the short span of time he wavers, Cross charges up to overtake the ball, slamming into it with a triumphant screech. Deep blue aura swirls around Cross’s madly beating wings.

Steel’s nodes droop, followed by his ears. He glances nervously up at Gladion.

Gladion checks his phone. “That was very good,” he says calmly. “That was thirty-one seconds. That’s about the same as last time.”

Steel’s ears droop further. “That’s not a bad thing,” Gladion says. “They’re getting better at catching the ball, but you’re getting better at avoiding them, too.”

Steel blinks, thinking about it, his tail fluttering nervously. He hooks his paw around Gladion’s hand and brings it to the crown of his head, ears limp to the sides, waiting. Gladion rubs his soft fur and smiles at him. 

Silvia plods up to him, warbling. “Wan some,” she declares. “Wan some wah-ter.”

“You want some water?” Gladion repeats, already unscrewing the cap of his water bottle. He pours some shallowly down Silvia’s helmet when she tilts it back. “Well, Silvia’s doing so good, so of course she gets some water.”

Cross smacks into the side of Gladion’s head like a bullet, gripping his bangs with his tiny claws and flapping madly with excited squeaks. “Yes, you won! Ow, stop, you’re pulling. Here,” Gladion says, tossing a little red package into the air. Cross swoops upon it in a flash, the blood bean clasped in his feet, and races to the nearest branch to nurse it.

Gladion gets Silvia’s attention, standing before her with his feet squared. “You’re pretty fast, but you keep tripping over yourself.” He weaves from side to side, stamping one foot down, then the other. Silvia lowers her head and imitates him, stamping each of her four feet against the earth. “You have to keep track of where your legs and feet are. If you trip less, you can catch the ball more.”

Gladion wades through the brush until he finds Usagi in some strange play with a Parasect. Every time it moves a leg, Usagi pounces on the limb with wild abandon. Her baby claws do no damage against the creature’s armor.

Pushing back visible disgust, Gladion stoops down to pick Usagi up and pat the Parasect on its mushroomed back. “Thank you for keeping her occupied.” The Parasect waves its claw in a friendly way, then makes its way into the grass.

Gladion lifts Usagi to his face like she’s a sandwich. “You, little lady, have got to work on your focus.” Usagi purrs, her silvery legs dangling, and bumps her snout against Gladion’s mouth. “But I just can’t stay mad at you.”

Usagi’s eyes stare over Gladion’s shoulder and she flails, wriggling out of his grip and slithering onto his shoulder. She swipes madly at a wild Comfee coming to investigate, which squeaks and wheels out of her way. “Nuh-uh, don’t be bad,” Gladion scolds, taming Usagi’s writhing and tucking her under his arm. “It’s training time, not playing time.”

She meows piteously, staring into the forest’s depths. A disjointed disquiet falls over Gladion as he studies her, like he’s doing something wrong. Every second he spends watching her wanting face hurts him more. Shaking it off, he turns and rejoins the others.

——

Guzma sends Gladion out via text twice more on Akala to chase off insurgents before sending him off-island for the first time. The early morning sees Gladion on the ferry, coasting to Melemele across sunrise-golden waters, fighting off yawns with coffee so laden with cream it’s almost white. God knows how people manage to drink this stuff every morning. He tries to kick his brain into gear, knowing he’ll need to be imposing to dissuade would-be heroes from messing with whatever petty crime Team Skull is enacting. 

Where Gladion is unconvincing, Silvia fills in the gaps. Few can argue with the sickle-like, razor-sharp logic at the ends of her chitinous forelegs. The old veteran ambushing Team Skull grunts in the cliffs of Route 3 was not one of these few.

After the short battle, Gladion lacks the energy to endure another hourlong boat ride. Hungry after a sparse ferry breakfast, he wanders up the path toward Iki Town, following directions on his phone. 

He only realizes he’s in the middle of town when he’s already there, looking around at sturdy houses with their owners rocking on their porches, greeting their neighbors by name. A pair of little kids run around Gladion, laughing and waving hello to him. Gladion can’t find a store in sight, and, realizing this town is purely residential and everybody clearly knows each other — which makes a newcomer like him stand out — he turns to leave the way he came, feeling like an intruder.

The clear sounds of a battle stop him: whoops and commands, wood creaking and animals calling. He wanders up the side of a set of stairs built into the earth, curious. In the middle of a wide square, opposite of which rises a comfortable-looking manor, stands a sturdy stage. White markings ring its low, thick boards, built to last no matter what might happen on it. The grass surrounding it is beaten down to earth, indicating frequent spectators.

No one besides Gladion and a few construction workers at the side of the mansion watch the battle happening now. A Hariyama squats opposite a Crabrawler, taking its tiny rapid-fire punches with one massive hoof. With a single flick of its claw-like finger, it tosses the Crabrawler across the stage.

“Coconut!” screeches the crab’s alarmed Trainer. It’s a kid Gladion’s age, brown-skinned with a messy shock of dark green hair. “Are you okay?” Coconut skids to a stop, rocking on its rugged purple back. It flips itself with a heave of its blue fist-like claws. “Great! Let’s try it again!”

The way the boy bounces back and forth with every word annoys Gladion immensely. It clearly doesn’t do the same for the boy’s opponent, a short, well-built older man in a sweeping yellow robe. His tied-back hair, white at first glance, holds a slight green tinge. “That’s it, _mo’opuna kāne._ He’s looking to you for instruction. He puts his trust in you, so be clear with him in return.”

The boy strikes a pose, fist raised to the sun. “You’ve _got_ it, Tutu!” he crows. His Crabrawler imitates him, both claws skyward. “Coconut, give it to her like we planned! Hit her legs!”

Coconut scuttles sideways across the stage, shockingly speedy. He zigzags between the Hariyama’s legs, aiming piston punches at his opponent’s ankles. Wobbling, the Hariyama thuds to her knees, a bit dramatically.

“Now hit her head!” the boy yells. Coconut skitters before the Hariyama before she can straighten up and lands one, two, three hard punches against her skull between her horns. The Hariyama shudders, then raises her hooves in surrender, waddling backwards on her knees.

The old man’s hands find his hips. “You’ve defeated me!” he roars, and laughs toward the sky. “That was good, going for her legs. What a quick round that was!”

Gladion frowns, sitting against a fence so he could watch the battle more comfortably. It was good strategy, but he has a feeling a massive thing like a Hariyama should’ve taken more punishment before admitting defeat from a crab the size of its finger.

The boy, mid-prance, stops with one foot in the air. The excited smile has vanished from his face.

His grandfather, perhaps, makes a show of helping his Hariyama to her feet. “Poor Kapō, knocked in the noggin. Let’s let her rest, shall we?” Kapō straightens up immediately, toddling toward the manor and looking absolutely none the worse for wear. 

The look on the boy’s face is faraway. He leans forward, like he might call after them. Just as quickly the smile reappears, dazzlingly sunny, like it never left. He dances across the stage and sweeps Coconut up, laughing louder than ever, then tucks him under his arm and races after his grandfather.

Gladion wanders out of the village, rubbing his eyes, and wonders just where he’s going to get himself a sandwich. Halfway to Hau’oli City he comes across a hot dog vendor and settles for that.

He strolls along a nearby beach, sharing lunch with Silvia and Steel. Usagi, a high-altitude creature, would recoil at the oppressive heat, and Cross would burn under the baking sun. Gladion loosens his hoodie and sighs, blowing on his sweaty hands to cool them. 

Steel lays his ears back and pants, lips split all the way down his face to expose tiny teeth and dry gums. “Too hot?” Gladion asks. Steel’s tail flails shortly. “Stand under Silvia so you can be in the shade.”

Silvia appears unfazed by the heat, though it lifts from her helmet in wobbling waves. Gladion grazes its metal, only to dance away hissing. “Your face!” he blurts out in alarm. He lunges for her Pokeball. “Is the helmet burning you?”

Silvia only watches him curiously, eyes drowsy and half-lidded. Gladion reaches up and strokes the thin strip of skin and feathers around her eye that the helmet reveals, and finds it warm but not burning. Either the helmet doesn’t allow heat to permeate deep enough to burn Silvia’s face, or Silvia can withstand extreme heat.

The latter seems more likely. Faba couldn’t shut up about the durability of his creations in his notes, that they can go without oxygen for almost twenty minutes, that their stomachs can break down anything, that they can store energy like a hibernating animal. Unlike Faba, in Silvia, Gladion finds everything to be proud of, not just what can make her survive in a fight longest.

Deep in thought, Gladion almost doesn’t notice they aren’t alone. The green-haired boy from Iki Town is walking up the beach a little ways from them, closer to the water. Coconut the Crabrawler crawls at his side, moving each leg slowly but with long strides to keep up.

“Next time,” Gladion overhears the boy say softly. “We’ll get him next time. For sure.”

Gladion moves to walk closer to the road, his Pokemon following, to avoid the boy’s path. But he turns at the sound of sand crunching beneath sandals, and an eager, “Hey!”

The boy skids to a stop in from of them, eyes bright; Coconut comes skittering up after him. “Cool Pokemon! Where you from? Not from Iki Town!”

“No, not from Iki Town,” Gladion replies. He crosses his arms and starts brushing his bangs over his eye, indulging the impulse to glower. He takes in the boy’s shiny green hair, the smooth skin of his face, his large gray eyes and wide, toothpaste-commercial smile.

Gladion does not normally stare for this long, but the boy is so startlingly nice to look at. Gladion tries to analyze what that means.

“What’s your name? I’m Hau!” Hau starts doing that back-and-forth bounce, instantly souring Gladion’s mood. “This is Coconut!”

“Gladion.” He’s told so many people that there’s no point hiding who he is now. “This is Silvia and Steel.”

Hau, to Gladion’s surprise, bounces right up to Silvia. She snorts, peering at him with big pupils. “Hello! Are you Silvia or are you Steel?”

For an odd moment, Gladion thinks she’s going to reply. “She’s Silvia.” Steel edges up to Gladion, pawing for his hand for reassurance. Gladion takes it with a squeeze. “Steel is shy, so don’t look at him.”

“Oh, I won’t,” Hau singsongs, not even glancing over. “Where are you from? I know eeeveryone on Melemele and I’ve never seen you before.”

“You can’t possibly. Isn’t Hau’oli City the biggest in Alola?” Gladion demands. “It is, isn’t it?”

Hau shrugs cheekily. “I still know ‘em. It’s got my name in it, after all. If you were from Melemele, wouldn’t you know that for sure to begin with?”

“. . . Yes,” Gladion grumps. “I live on Akala.”

“Oooh, cool! You know Kiawe and them? Lana, Mallow, and Olivia?”

“No.” Gladion is beginning to lose what little interest he had in the conversation; Silvia was never paying attention at all. She lowers her head to the ground, staring and sniffing at Coconut with that bizarre, singular focus she has. Coconut withdraws, backing up with slow movements of his claws, his fist-like pincers drawn to his rudimentary face. 

“You’d better leave him alone,” Gladion warns. Silvia pays him no mind, inching forward to sniff. Quick as a flash, Coconut punches out and strikes the front of her helmet, dinging out a bell-like ring. Silvia jumps back, snorting in shock. “See? That’s what you get,” Gladion reprimands. “You made him uncomfortable.”

Hau giggles. “Coconut! Bad boy. She was only trying to sniff.” Coconut busies himself with climbing a nearby parking curb, not even sorry.

Shrugging, Hau extends his hand to Silvia, fingers down. She sniffs eagerly, then steps forward to sniff his face. Hau looks supremely unbothered about it. “What are you, missy? Can I pet you?” She paws the air agreeably, and he steps around her head to rub her shoulders in a manner Gladion is used to. A wide smile splits his face, as though nothing could bring him more joy than giving Silvia affection.

“She’s an Absol,” Gladion supplies, by habit.

Hau’s smile does not change, but his eyes are wide when he glances at Gladion. “No, she’s not.”

For a moment, the only thing Gladion can focus on are the rushing waves. He wishes for anything to break Hau’s eye contact with him right now, because the longer he stares, the more likely he needs to fill the silence with some explanation.

But Hau does not press further. Steel slowly emerges from behind Gladion, sniffing the air in minute turns of his head. Hau extends a limp hand, which Steel approaches with tense limbs. His tail spasms nervously, and he bows his head to invite a pat. Before Gladion can warn him down, Hau kneels to Steel’s level and strokes the crown of his head with a gentleness that his earlier enthusiasm belied. 

“Hi, cutie,” Hau murmurs, eyes soft. His smile looks like it was made to be shared. When Steel has had enough, he fumbles with his front paws apologetically and backs up behind Gladion again.

Hau stands. “You can say hi to Coconut, if you’d like!”

“I’ll pass,” Gladion mutters, paling.

Hau shrugs and turns back to Silvia to keep stroking through her feathers, serene. “What’s this do?” he asks, nodding up at her crest. He reaches up to pet the feathers exposed between the helmet and the hook. “Whoa! Is that bone in there? It’s got muscle!”

“Yes,” Gladion puffs, grateful for the subject change. “If it wasn’t for the helmet, she’d be able to move it up and down, like a vertical bird wing. The hook draws electric attacks away from her face, and there’s a pocket of fat around the top of her head to insulate it from the electricity the crest takes in.” Given that the crest predated the helmet, Gladion suspects that metal must be part of Silvia’s natural face, somehow.

“Whooooa,” Hau whispers. “What’s the point of the whole metal thing, too?”

“Head condition.”

“What’s her face look like under there?”

Gladion fidgets. “I don’t know.” The only thing Faba’s notes never contained was an actual picture of a Type: Null’s head. It upsets him in ways he can’t explain, that he might never get to know what Silvia’s face looks like.

Hau’s rubbing her shoulder. “Her skin’s like a Wailmer's,” he observes. “All hard and tight, see? Is that another condition?”

“Mm.” Gladion shifts from foot to foot. “She should have more skin.”

“Very muscly, though! You’re a beefcake, Silvia!” Silvia perks up, as she enjoys the taste of beef. “Hey, do you battle, big girl? You wanna battle?”

Silvia tilts her head back and stamps the ground with her front feet. “Yea-aah!” she agrees happily. “Rrrrrrr- yes yes yes yes yes.”

Hau freezes, and Gladion is already explaining, “She’s birdlike, so she imitates speech. She knows a lot of words, and she’s smart enough to respond to questions most of the time.”

“That’s _amazing!_ ” Hau declares, that easy smile reappearing in an instant. “Hey, can you say my name? Hau! Ha-au. Can you say it? Ha-au.”

“Hi-iii!” Silvia chirrups. “Hoh!”

“Ha-au!”

“Ha-au!” She twists in glee. “Hau! Hau-Hau-Hau-Hau!”

“You did that so fast! You’re so smart!” Hau bounces back and forth, which Silvia readily imitates, bobbing from front leg to front leg. “Wanna battle us, smart girl? Wanna battle with your Trainer?”

“No,” Gladion scoffs. “We’re not battling you.”

Hau lands on one foot and freezes, much like he did when he “won” before. “Aww, why not?”

Gladion crosses his arms, turning to face the ocean. “You wouldn’t be much of a fight. I saw you before, battling your- grandfather? I don’t think you know how to battle right.”

Hau’s other foot plants in the sand. “So what exactly am I missing?”

“To start with, the right reasons. You look like a joke, bouncing all over the place. Do you think battling is a game or something?” Gladion scoffs again. “That’s not what it’s all about. Battling is about strategy, and survival. It can be life or death. It’s not some crazy publicity stunt.”

Silvia, oblivious, nudges Hau’s shoulder with the front of her helmet. But Hau looks in no condition to give her affection. “Who says it _has_ to be so serious?” he asks. 

“If your Pokemon have the potential to get hurt, you should treat it like it’s serious,” Gladion retorts. 

“So a battle between friends and family should be treated like a death match?” Hau’s hands return to rub Silvia’s neck, his smile inverted into an equally genuine frown. “Man. I’m glad it doesn’t actually work that way.”

“You really want to defend battling as no big deal to you,” Gladion observes. “Is that because you want to keep it cool when your grandfather lets you win?”

Hau’s hands freeze. The debate has turned biting at the edges, and clearly neither is comfortable. But Hau looks at him with a smile, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You shouldn’t spy.”

“You were in a public place,” Gladion points out.

“Even so.” Hau shrugs, shoulders nearly to his ears. “You’re way too serious, dude. I just wanna have some fun with my friends and my tutu, but if it’s life and death for you, more power to ya.”

Gladion’s insides itch. What must it be like, to battle and be void of that constant fear that everything could go wrong? 

Hau watches him, expecting an answer. He even leans a little closer. Gladion just crosses his arms and looks down at the sand, heart beating erratically. He strokes through his bangs. “Have it your way.”

“I will!” Hau exclaims, with sudden vigor. “And you have it your way, too, I guess. ’S long as little Silvia and Steel are okay with it, right?”

Silvia, knowing she’s addressed, whistles delightedly, and even Steel wags his tail a bit. “Good babies,” Hau says, with satisfaction. “Well, maybe I’ll meet you gang on the road sometime! I’ll be starting my Island Challenge next year!”

Gladion wonders how far Hau would get, with a battle strategy like that; briefly, he contemplates Hau sullen and dejected, finally aware of his lot in life, trudging the muddy path to Team Skull’s indulgent, toxic embrace. He feels no satisfaction — just somberness, married with a weird kind of excitement. “Maybe we’ll see you again.”

Hau leaps to where Coconut has sat huddled on the parking block with one bound. He scoops the crab up in his arms and presses him to his chest, raising his hand to wave cheerily. Gladion’s hand twitches, wanting to reply in kind; he holds it in place over his face, watching from beneath his bangs.

Hau turns and doesn’t look back once as he climbs up the sand and disappears down the road. But Gladion keeps watching him anyway. Just in case he might.

——-

Gladion’s phone is what rouses him, its vibration matching the headache pulsing at the front of his brain. He blinks awake and screws his eyes shut at the late morning sun, squinting them open just enough to see the text was from Guzma. He planned on a lazy day today, but clearly it wasn’t to be.

He scratches Silvia’s shoulder with his knuckle. “Wakey wakey,” he rasps, rolling halfway off the bed before his legs swing down to catch him. Silvia twitches her claw, but nothing else. He unlocks his phone, swipes it. “We’ve got some ace Trainers roughing up grunts on Ula’ula,” he reads from his screen, “so we’re on that today, as soon as we can make it. Does it sound like a plan?”

He squeezes Silvia’s back paw and pulls it around as he heads for the bathroom for his morning routine. Steel yawns from his corner bed, stretches, and joins him, padding up in all fours and blinking gummy eyes. Gladion, with Steel’s permission, hoists him up onto the sink and pretends to style his ears with gel as he does the real thing to his own hair. 

Once dressed and refreshed, Gladion pats the end of the bed, where Silvia still has not stirred. “Up up, honey. It’s time for work.”

Silvia’s only reply is a sigh. “Come on, you’re my big girl. Don’t you want to scare some kids?”

Silvia’s thigh muscle bulges as she tenses like to move, then relaxes, then tenses again. She heaves her shoulders up and aligned, her helmet remaining prone on the bed, only swiveling by the hook. With slow drags, she rolls on her limbs one by one until she faces Gladion, but instead of jumping down, she shudders and collapses onto the mattress again.

Gladion’s heart starts to pound. “What’s wrong?” He reaches for her, feeling her cool temperature, checking for a scratch.

Silvia tucks her elbows beneath her and her breath hitches as though she’ll rise, but she relaxes again. Her eyelids list down over her gray irises. “What is it?” Gladion asks again.

She raises a claw and reaches, not for him, but for her head. Her palm catches on the helmet’s spokes and she shoves, as though to slide it off, but it doesn’t budge except to tilt her head to the opposite side. Again she draws back and pushes at it, claws gripping, but the mask does not budge.

She gives up with a whine. She seems to melt into the blanket, eyes dull. 

Feeling like a draft is creeping under his clothes, Gladion kneels by her left eye and touches her shoulder. “Does it hurt?”

Silvia rolls her eye until it focuses on him. “Is it heavy?” he whispers. Her eye closes. “Silvia . . .”

He gets up and perches on the bed beside her, hands finding her tense shoulders, and digs his fingertips into the hard flesh. But no ministration can undo the damage her torn muscles and bent spine have sustained from years of being stuck under the helmet’s iron weight. Still he massages her, needing to do something, _anything,_ except cry. All this time, and he hasn’t made good on his promise. Every day he doesn’t, more and more she suffers.

Gladion’s hands slide down her spine. He bends down and leans his forehead on her. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I’m failing you.”

She huffs and tries to move, unwilling to let his insults stand. “Okay, okay,” he soothes, pressing down on her. “Please, rest. We’re not going anywhere today. I’ll stay with you, all right?” She goes limp, relieved. “I know. I love you, dear. Do you want to go in your ball right now?” She remains silent, and absent of an affirmative, Gladion doesn’t touch her ball.

He frets further, wiggling a pillow underneath her head so that her neck is supported better and she can see the entire room. He runs a towel under hot tap water and lays it across Silvia’s shoulders. “We’re staying in today,” he announces to his Pokemon. They all flap, lope, and toddle to his side, save for Silvia. “No job. What do you all want to do?”

Steel dances on his paws and starts barking, Cross squeaks, and Usagi runs in circles, agitated by the others. “It has to be inside only, though! And no roughhousing, because Silvia doesn’t feel good,” Gladion reminds them, sitting on the edge of his bed beside Silvia and tapping out a message to Guzma.

 **To: Guzma**  
-I can’t go out today. My Pokemon is not feeling well.

 **From: Guzma**  
-u have 3 more  
-dont play

 **To: Guzma**  
-I can’t leave her alone right now.

 **From: Guzma**  
-ugh fine

Gladion quells the twist of worry in his gut that Guzma might cut his losses, knowing Silvia’s comfort is more important. “What’s the plan?” he asks aloud, cupping Usagi’s side as she flies onto his lap, claws out. Across the room, Cross has landed on one of Steel’s ears and is energetically nipping it in excitement. “Calm down, nothing is going on. Anyone have any ideas?”

Usagi scrambles off his lap again and scampers in circles before the door. “No outside. Here, why don’t we . . . bake something? How about that? There’s this treat recipe I found online for carnivores, so all three of you can eat it. Cross, you can have a blood bean,” Gladion mutters apologetically; the little bat cannot chew. 

Cross seems delighted anyway, flipping in circles in sheer joy. 

Gladion pulls up the recipe, scrolls past the hundreds of words of sentimental backstory preceding the instructions proper, and sticks his laptop on the desk beside his homemade kitchen. A new blender, a mini oven and stovetop, and a small freezer have joined the motel’s microwave since he moved in. “Homemade banana, bacon, and peanut butter treats,” Gladion announces, reading off the laptop, lip curled in disgust despite himself. “How crunchy do you all want this to be?”

After a few minutes of repeating the question, Usagi expresses that she wants them mushier, Silvia wants crunchier, and Steel is in the middle. “Okay, we’ll bake half of it longer so we have one half crunchy, one half mushy, how’s that?”

Steel presses up to his side, and with a momentary lift of his head nodes expresses that he wants to help. “Aw, thank you,” Gladion murmurs, stroking the black stripe on his head. “Want to go get the mixing bowl for me? I’ll mix, you taste.”

Steel does so eagerly, offering the metal bowl between his rudimentary paw-hands. He helps Gladion measure out flour and eggs and mix them together, licking dough off Gladion’s fingers and wagging his thin tail in excitement. “Good, huh?” Gladion asks. “Do you guys want any particular shape for these treats? Bones, beans, cookies?”

Steel’s nodes lift, and Gladion gets an impression of a cartoon dog bone. “Good choice.”

With the biscuits shaped — which takes much longer than it should, as Usagi had finally noticed the goings on and started snatching every bit of dough she could reach — and in the oven, Gladion drags his feet to Silvia. He can barely look at her, he feels so guilty. But her eyes light up when she sees him coming, and her lower eyelids slide up in excitement.

Gladion sits beside her, rubbing the hard meat of her neck. She sighs quietly, eyes closed, until she opens them and lifts her claw. Gladion sits back, letting her indicate what she wants. She reaches above his thigh and, with difficulty, taps the front pocket where Gladion keeps his phone. “Don’t worry about Guzma,” Gladion says immediately, grasping her claw and putting it back on the bed. “Everything will be fine. It doesn’t matter what he says. You’re more important.”

She whines, a weak and mournful sound. Gladion leans on her body and rests his cheek between her shoulder blades. “I don’t tell you every time,” he murmurs, “but sometimes, it’s really hard for me to get out of bed too. I don’t have a helmet, but sometimes . . . I feel like I do. Like it’s so much easier to stay under the blanket and never leave it, because everything outside is so . . . so much. It’s heavy.” He strokes the feathers before his face, playing with them. “I get up because of you. You make it easier. You make me want to try.”

Silvia’s slowly swelling chest and hammering heart are his only replies; she is a quiet sponge, silent when absorbing something she knows is important. “You do so much for me, so let me take care of you,” Gladion says. “I know I take care of you a lot, but let me do it more.”

Steel yips for Gladion’s attention, eyes riveted on the clock. “Already? Thank you.” Gladion slides off the bed and pops the oven door open, squinting against the heat. He takes the pan out with an oven mitt, wrinkling his nose against the stench of vegetables baked in dough. “Ta-da.”

Usagi rams into his ankles, meowing in excitement. Steel’s tail spasms. “Not so fast,” Gladion chides. “These need to cool off. If you eat them when they’re too hot you’ll burn your tongues.” He sets it on the stovetop. “Wait for me to get it. Can you do that? Huh? Can you do that, little kitty?” he coos, chasing down the scampering Usagi and crouching down to grab her sleek body. She flips onto her back, raking her large claws gently against his skin. “Are you big and bad?”

Usagi writhes back onto her feet and bolts under the bed practically before Gladion even hears the noise. He jumps at a bouncing thud and metallic clutter and whirls. The baking tray lies askew on the floor, treats cracked and steaming on the carpet, Steel standing over them with his ears laid back. 

Gladion leaps up, alarmed; Steel jerks his head back, the whites of his eyes showing in terrified crescent moons. He lunges for the tray. “No!” Gladion shouts. Steel flinches, but continues, paws shaking as he scrabbles at the tray- then rips his paws away with a pained scream.

Gladion dashes between the fallen treats and Steel before he can try picking it up again. “Stop it!” he barks. “You’re burning yourself!”

Cowering, Steel scrambles backwards, hunched and pained. He gingerly tries it on all fours, but shoots back to two with another shrill yelp. He recoils when Gladion reaches for his paws. “Steel, come here, I need to help you. You’re hurt. ”

Immediately he grows guilty for uttering a command. Stiff and shaky, Steel lowers his paws and turns to Gladion, tears already running down the fur of his cheeks. He grimaces like he expects a hit.

Gladion grabs the tray with an oven mitt and puts it on the stovetop before turning to Steel. He squats, hands gently open. “C’mere,” he murmurs. “Everything is okay. Show me where it hurts.” 

Cross, awake from a nap on his perch across the room, fires a steady stream of peeps in their direction to watch the commotion. Usagi peeks out from under the bed, and Silvia stares unblinkingly from her position, unwilling to move her head but tense all the same. Steel only trembles harder. “I’m not mad at you. I won’t hurt you. I just want you to come here so I can help you.”

Steel approaches with one unsteady step, then another. His ears press down like flaps of a hat. Gladion offers limp hands, and when Steel, quaking, brushes against them with the very tips of his nails, he asks, “Can I touch?”

Steel nods quickly, wincing as he does it. Gladion grips his hand-paws by the wrist and turns them, heart hammering. The rough, pebbled black skin of Steel’s paw pads has blistered and peeled back from when he tried to grab the burning tray, exposing raw pink flesh underneath. “Poor baby,” Gladion murmurs, holding his Riolu’s paws carefully and reaching up to caress his furry cheek. “Let me take care of this, okay? I’ll make you feel all better. I’m going to give you something cold to hold because I need to clean this up so the others won’t get hurt. Make sense?” 

In a few seconds Gladion grabs an ice pack from his freezer, wrapping the block in a towel and pressing it to Steel’s paws. “I’ll take you to the Pokecenter right after, all right? Then you’ll be all healed up.”

Steel, his entire body vibrating, whines softly. His tail is tucked far between his back legs. Gladion turns the oven off, tosses the upended treats onto the stovetop, and goes back to kneeling before his cub. “I’m not mad at you,” he says softly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Steel’s nodes lift. Sensations form a word. _Why?_

“Because you didn’t,” Gladion says with conviction. “I’m sorry I yelled- I was just scared for you.”

_Treats?_

“They don’t matter. They don’t matter at all. They are things, and you are a person. You are always going to matter more than anything else.”

Steel’s red eyes are wide in his face, his pupils tiny black dots. Gladion gently holds his face and leans in to kiss his forehead. “I love you, okay?” He smiles, eyes crinkling up. “Let’s get you fixed up.”

Stroking Steel’s soft ears gently one last time, Gladion stands and turns to look for his ball, intending to be quick to mitigate Steel’s suffering. 

He sees the blue glint first on Silvia’s helmet, bright and jarring against its sharp corners; then he notices it shimmering along the walls, and when he looks down at the front of his shirt he finds it deeply dark, shadowed by a new light source.

Gladion turns.

Where Steel stood is a blazing pillar of blue light, soft and pulsing yet the most intense thing in the room. Ozone fills the air; the hair on Gladion’s arms and the back of his neck stands on edge. He stands transfixed, excited and simultaneously uncomprehending. The light intensifies; no one can see any features, but the electric blue silhouette slowly doubles in height, sprouts new parts, forms a new-

It goes dark like a lightbulb going out. A shuddering Lucario stands in Steel’s place, ears laid back and long jaws parted to pant. The thick ruff of fur cascading down his neck and chest is fluffy gold, a spike emerging from the apex of his ribcage. Four nodes hang from the sides of his head instead of two; they twitch sporadically, rising and vibrating periodically as he tries to make sense of his brand-new body.

Only when Steel’s red eyes turn on him does Gladion realize he’s standing there gaping. He swallows, mouth dry. “Steel?”

Usagi rubs against Gladion’s ankles, nervous but interested. Cross speeds off his perch and swings circles around Steel, checking him out with echolocation. And Silvia, taking in deep inhales, slowly slides off the bed for the first time that day. She approaches on stiff, tired legs, and her head hangs low, but her eyes are riveted on Steel.

Steel drops the ice pack, his paws turned toward the ceiling. The pads that were burnt just moments ago show no wound; his black, pebbly skin has formed anew, like the burn never happened.

He looks at Gladion. They’re at the exact same height. “Steel?”

All four nodes rise on the sides of the Lucario’s head — Gladion’s mind fills with a thumping heart, tissue twitching with ancient energy, dread and excitement mixed into a nightmare cocktail as Steel grapples with rocketing into maturity. They reach for each other at the same time; Steel throws his arms over Gladion’s shoulders and Gladion hugs him back tight, a huge smile spreading across his face.

All his shock and joy culminate in a shout. “Look at you!” Gladion exclaims, the event finally hitting him. Steel leans back to gaze at him with bright eyes, his mouth parted and pearly fangs bared in delight. “Look at how big you are! You did it!” Gladion holds Steel’s ruffly cheeks, scratching his thick pelt; Steel’s burning warm, his soft, tickling fur standing on edge. His bushy tail wags like mad. “I-I can’t believe- just from- you evolved! Just like that!”

Steel whines, a deep near-howl. He rubs his head against Gladion’s, nuzzling one side and then the other. Gladion laughs elatedly, hugging him close and nuzzling him back, fur all in his face. “I’m so proud of you!”

Steel detaches from him and gets down on all fours, sniffing the cautious Usagi’s nose and letting Cross land between his ears (Cross begins furiously grooming Steel’s fur with his tongue). Silvia, meanwhile, stands a ways apart, her pale eyes wide and helmet nearly touching the ground from its weight.

Gladion crosses over to her, already filling in the gaps. “Steel evolved,” he murmurs, carefully holding her helmet and lifting it. “Sometimes, certain Pokemon turn into different, more advanced Pokemon in their life cycle. It’s like growing up. Getting stronger. Steel was a Riolu, but now he’s called a Lucario. They evolve with . . .” Realizing where his sentence ends, his knees nearly buckle, his heart and fingers spasming. “Love.”

As the others begin to play through the room, Gladion guides Silvia into lying down beside the bed. She has no energy to climb back onto it. “It’s triggered by different things depending on the line. Sometimes age, sometimes adrenaline, and sometimes love, like a close and unbreakable bond. Cross will evolve into something called a Golbat one day, and hopefully then a Crobat. Usagi will become a Weavile. The higher up you go on evolutionary chains, the more you get apex predators, bigger mass, longer lifespans . . . It’s not required, but it’s _best._ It’s high-efficiency optimization.”

He waits for Silvia to absorb it, leaning against her and rubbing her neck. She lifts her head and peers at the ground by Steel, where his front paws splay across the carpet in a play pose, his rump in the air, inviting Usagi to pounce. Silvia’s claws tap the rug. “His burns? They’re gone now. Evolution has this secondary effect where it heals any injuries on the body. It constructs an entirely new form; it’s not going to bring wounds with it. His paws are good as new.”

Silvia’s quiet for a while. Her helmet droops low, until it nudges the inside of her elbow. “No, his paws are fine, baby,” Gladion assures, guessing at her meaning.

Silvia snorts, frustrated. Whatever she’s trying to say is not getting across. Her mask plunks to the floor, and her chest bulges. “How,” she slowly whines. “Wwweee? We? _Me?”_

“You?” 

“Me- ewalf?”

There’s no time to be excited at her advancements in forming sentences. There is only quiet dismay, and some kind of shame. “No, you don’t evolve. You . . . were made, not born. I don’t think it’s possible for you.”

He feels awful for some reason, like he’s disappointing her. He adds quickly, “But that’s okay! Plenty of Pokemon don’t evolve. Drampa, Passimian, uh, Dunsparce- all kinds of single-stage Pokemon. They’re fine just the way they are. Even _legendaries_ don’t evolve.” When she doesn’t respond, he puts his hand on her neck. “Wanna know why? Because they’re already perfect. Just like you. N-Not to say that Steel wasn’t already perfect, but . . .” He shakes his head. “I’m losing my meaning here. You don’t need to evolve. It’s just exciting that Steel did.”

He scratches along her spine, and they watch the others play together. Eventually Gladion stands to get those treats ready, and as he walks by, he glances down at Silvia. Her gaze is riveted on Steel. Gladion cannot tell what she’s thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRIIIIISE!
> 
> It always takes me ages to update anything, but not for lack of love. My ass has been absolutely kicked by this spring semester, so while I was close to being done for a while, I literally had no time to do anything. There's only one chapter after this, and it's a big one! Everything is leading up to it.
> 
> Roth and Hibisca are OCs of my girlfriend Jenny; they are Plumeria's younger biological siblings. You can see them and read more about them [here!](http://sabishiranami.tumblr.com/post/174031390842/these-references-were-originally-drawn-in) They're an awesome pair.
> 
> I love basing Pokemon off of realistic interpretations and real-life animals, which is why some descriptions might seem a little off (Usagi being called a “kitten,” Magmar having scales). Here are some links to what the Pokemon described in this chapter are based off of!
> 
> Cross and all Zubats are based off of [thumbless bats.](http://i.imgur.com/gfuhGpv.jpg) Golbats are, of course, based off of [vampire bats.](https://thumbs-prod.si-cdn.com/YXdZhLLQRb3oN_2lNq066cX2beE=/800x600/filters:no_upscale\(\):focal\(815x330:816x331\)/https://public-media.smithsonianmag.com/filer/c4/5e/c45e215d-7646-4a2d-9586-611fa177e8c7/desmo-boden.jpg)  
> Steel is based off of an [African golden wolf cub and adult](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/7/71/Golden_wolf_small.jpg/1200px-Golden_wolf_small.jpg) as Riolu and Lucario respectively.  
> Magmar is based off of this [interpretation](https://metalreaper.deviantart.com/art/Magmar-334384845) that imagines them as a cross between [ducks and marine iguanas.](https://namh.deviantart.com/art/Realistic-Magmar-406313117)  
> Goliath is based off of this [realistic Golisopod,](http://shinonart.tumblr.com/post/155530051858/sunmoon-pokeddex-day-6-favourite-bug-type) and on giant isopods in general.  
> Comfeys are [moths.](http://shinonart.tumblr.com/post/155347631633/sunmoon-pokeddex-day-3-favourite-fairy-type) I’m sorry, but that’s the truth.  
> Usagi the Sneasel is based off of a [jaguarundi cub,](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/a5/67/03/a5670354b20469db61f46394e5695251.jpg) a weasel-like wild cat.  
> Sally the Salazzle is based off of this [realistic interpretation.](http://shinonart.tumblr.com/post/156052087473/sunmoon-pokeddex-day-16-favourite-poison-type)  
> Coconut is based off of this [realistic Crabrawler interpretation,](http://ommanyte.tumblr.com/post/149664587580/crabrawler-a-coconut-crab-pok%C3%A9mon-i-am-so) and on coconut crabs in general.
> 
> Reviews are my only food, don’t let me starve! Let me know what you thought, if you’d like!

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Guess who played her first Pokemon game and fell deeply in love?
> 
> Gladion and Silvia will be the focus of this whole fic. You guys _know_ this shit is right up my alley. I love this emo boy and his enormous cockatoo.
> 
> This fic will be four chapters, all around the same length. Please, please let me know what you think in the comments! Constructive criticism is always encouraged -- come follow me on Tumblr at **saphruikan.tumblr.com!**


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